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AUTHOR: 


NORDAU,  MAX  SIMON 


TITLE: 


PARADOXES, 
GERMAN 


THE 


MAX 


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Nordau,  Max  Simon,  1849-1  n?^^. 

Paradoxes,  from  the  German  of  Max  Nordau  ...    (Au- 
thorized English  ed.)    Chicago,  Laird  &  Lee  r'1895i5iG86i 

3  p.  I.,  i5i-377  p.    18p™. 

On  cover :  Golden  rod  edition. 


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PARADOXES 


FROM  THE  GERMAN 


ov 


MAX  NORDAU 


Author  of  "The  Conventional  Libs  op  Our  Civilizatiok 

"PARIS    SKETCHES,"    ETC. 


(AUTHORIZED  ENGLISH  EDITION.) 


\     i 


CHIC.^CO 

LA'RD  &  LEE,  Publishers 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1886,  by 

LOUIS   SCHICK, 
111  tlie  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


..     !!.*•*      ••»•  

•  •  •    •  •       % 


PREFACE. 


Wherefore  "  Paradoxes "  ?  Because  this  book  enters  upon  the 
discussion  of  the  problems  of  which  it  treats  in  all  candor,  unbiased  by 
the  intimidating  decrees  of  schools  and  indifferent  to  customary  views 
and  opinions.  Statements  hitherto  considered  unimpeachable,  be- 
cause no  one  has  ever  questioned  their  validity,  must  submit  to  the 
demand  for  their  proofs,  and  then  it  frequently  appears  that  they 
have  none.  Commonplaces  are  compelled  to  vindicate  their  veracity, 
and  if  they  cannot  do  this,  neither  rank  nor  standing  will  save  them 
from  condemnation.  The  chief  aim  of  this  book  is  to  demonstrate 
that  even  what  is  mosc  self-evident  is  still  open  to  many  doubts  and 
may  lead  to  much  perplexity,  as  it  frequently  happens  that  the  same 
fact  may  be  supported  by  the  most  opposite  theories  and  explanations, 
which  all  seem  equally  plausible  and  probably  are  all  equally  erro- 
neous. The  author  will  have  accomplished  his  purpose  if  he  succeeds 
in  inducing  the  reader  to  distrust  all  ready-made  formulas,  and  yet 
give  due  consideration  to  every  utterance  of  honest  opinion,  to  admit 
that  the  most  convincing  demonstration  still  leaves  room  for  doubt, 
but  also  to  patiently  sift  the  most  unacceptable  argument,  and^  more 
than  all,  never  to  renounce  the  right  of  individual  conclusions,  even 
iu  favor  of  the  highest  authorities. 

The  author  is  willing  to  allow  these  principles  to  be  applied  to 
himself  first  of  all.  He  does  not  ask  any  one  to  share  his  views  ;  all 
he  asks  is  a  hearing.  He  does  not  flatter  himself  that  he  has  dis- 
covered solutions,  all  ho  desires  is  to  induce  the  reader  to  search  for 
them.  In  striving  for  truth  the  main  thing  is  not  the  finding  but  the 
seeking.    He  who  has  honestly  sought  has  done  enough. 

The  Author. 

Paris,  May,  1885. 


•  •  a      % 

« 


:)) 


„ 


(  ^ 


CONTENTS. 


Optimism  and  Pessimism 

Majority  and  Minority 

A  Retrospect      .  .  •  - 

Success         ,  .  •  -  - 

The  Psycho-Physiology  of  Genius  and  Talent 

Suggestion    .  .  %  •  • 

Gratitude  .  -  -  - 

The  Import  of  Fiction 

The  Natural  History  of  Love     - 

Evolution  in  ^Esthetics 

Symmetry  •  . 

Generalization  .  .  -  - 

Where  is  Truth? 

The  State  an  Annihilator  of  Character      *   - 

Nationality         .  .  .  • 

A  Glance  into  the  Future     • 


Page. 
5 

33 

71 

92 

116 
203 
222 
235 
248 
264 
283 
298 
314 
330 
344 
36G 


OPTIMISM    AND    PESSIMISM. 


0 


/ 


The  pyramids,  are  they  considered  one  of  the  wonders 
of  the  world?  The  hanging  gardens  of  Babylon?  The 
Colossus  of  Rhodes?  I  know  of  a  greater— the  most, 
artistic  and  the  most  astounding  perhaps,  ever  conceived 
by  the  mind  of  man.  This  is  pessimism.  By  this  I  mean 
that  genuine,  fundamental  pessimism  which  has  become 
the  universally  accepted  point  of  view,  from  which  nature, 
humanity  and  life  itself,  seem  forever  the  same  as  in  the 
dismal  reaction  and  fit  of  the  blues  which  follow  a  pro- 
longed drinking  bout 

We  must  discriminate  between  two  kinds  of  honest 
pessimism— the  scientific  and  the  practical.  Scientific  pes- 
simism is  constantly  criticising  in  the  most  annihilating 
manner  all  the  phenomena  of  the  universe,  singly  and  col- 
lectively. The  universe,  it  teaches  with  profound  convic- 
tion, is  a  wretched  piece  of  workmanship,  no  better  than 
the  abortive  first  attempts  of  some  prentice  hand.  Has 
its  existence  any  purpose,  any  way?  We  stand  and  shake 
our  heads  in  front  of  the  ponderous  and  intricate  machine, 
seeking  in  vain  to  discover  a  mind  and  reason  in  the 
furious  whiri.  And  if  we  accept  that  the  universe  is  an 
irrational,  purposeless  chaos,  is  there  any  law  or  logic  in 
its  separate  parts,  at  least?  No.  It  is  crude  chance  alone 
that  rules  nature,  and  that  in  nature  which  most  interests 
us— humanity.  No  sense  of  morality  governs  the  course 
of  events,  either  great  or  small.    Evil  triumphs  oftener 





i 


n 
n 


OimilBM  AND  PESSIMISM- 


Hian  good  Atuiman  throws  Ormuzd  down  stairs  and  in- 
solcii%  cliiicMes  if  the  latter  breaks  his  leg  on  the  way. 
Why  does  such  a  world  exist?  why  does  saeh  a  world  con- 
Ikne  to  exist!  And  would  it  not  be  far  better  and  more 
in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  morality,  if  it  were  to  be 
hnrled  back  into  primeval  chaos  firom  which  it  is  supposed 
lo  have  emerged— which  latter  point,  however,  is  still  to 

be  pHivwl' 

What  a  foundation  of  naive  vanity  and  self-glorifica- 
Mon  there  is  to  this  way  of  thinking !  It  proceeds  upon 
the  assumption  that  the  human  intellect  is  the  highest 
production  of  nature ;  that  it  can  grasp  and  comprehend 
everything  that  exists  j  that  without  it,  nothing  can  exist; 
and  that  its  laws  must  be  those  of  the  universe  also. 
From  this  point  of  view  alone  is  this  criticism  of  the  phe- 
nomeha  of  the  universe  comprehensible.* 

K  nature  is  governed  by  an  intellect  constituted  simi- 
lar to  that  of  man,  it  is  certainly  foolish  and  oi}en  to  criti- 
clam ;  for  it  does  not  allow  us  to  understand  its  intentions ; 
it  plays  sEly  tricks ;  it  is  first  extravagant  and  then  stingy, 
tad  it  maiwges  with  such  a  disr^ard  for  the  future  and 
so  recklessly,  that  it  ought  to  be  placed  under  the  guard- 
ianship of  some  professor  of  philosophy,  and  the  sooner 

the  better. 

The  case  Is  similar  in  regard  to  the  aggravating  lack 
of  morality  in  the  way  the  world  is  managed.  If  some 
Mghlj-oultured,  noble-minded  gentleman  of  this  Nineteenth 
Century,  with  the  highest  references  from  his  lo<jal  author- 
ities, had  charge  of  the  ordering  of  the  world,  things  would 
certfOnly  be  wrj  different  Then  we  would  not  be  dis- 
tressed by  the  spectacle  of  virtue  pursued  by  misfortune, 
aii  vice  would  not  arouse  our  indignation  with  its  insolent 
tiliimph&  M  often  then  as  such  a  gentleman  feels  im- 
pelled to  construct  a  world  after  his  own  heart,  that  is,  to 


•      I 


REALITY  AND  ROMANCE.  « 

compose  a  romance  or  a  play,  he  has  the.  most  delightful 
morality  prevail  and  the  dear  public  applauds  till  its  hands 
are  weary,  if  on  the  last  page  or  in  the  fifth  act,  virtue  re- 
ceives  a  reward  of  merit  and  vice  five  years  in  the  peni- 
tentiary ;  and  it  soliloquizes  •  **  That's  the  way  it  ought  to 
be !  Only  life  is  not  so  successful  in  its  attempts  as  our 
noble  poet."  It  is  true  that  even  among  authors  there  are 
some  odd  fellows  who  seem  to  take  it  upon  themselves  to 
portray  the  reality  without  discrimination  or  improvement; 
and  in  the  works  of  these  unimaginative  individuals  mat- 
ters  go  just  as  dubiously  as  in  real  life  itself :  Hans  does 
not  win  his  Gretchen  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he 
loves  her  sincerely  and  loyally ;  she  prefers  some  scoundrel 
who  makes  her  miserable;  talents  go  to  waste  because 
they  can  not  find  any  circumsUnces  favorable  to  their  de- 
velopment; and  his  Honor,  the  Mayor,  is  still  mayor, 
though  the  whole  city  knows  the  story  of  how  he  obtained 
his  position.  Morality  does  such  a  poor  business  here 
that  she  finally  goes  into  bankruptcy,  and  the  public 
turns  angrily  away  from  such  discouragingly  immoral 
productions. 

It  is  then  to  be  taken  for  granted  that  nature  is 
neither  logical  nor  moral,  and  that  it  ought  either  to  im- 
prove or  disappear  entirely. 

But,  you  poor  wretch,  criticising  thus,  how  do  you 
know  that  your  logic  is  anything  more  than  the  law  which 
regulates  the  coexistence  and  course  of  organic  events  in 
your  own  mind  alone?  Whence  have  you  the  right  to 
apply  it  to  the  course  of  events  in  the  universe?  Is  it  not 
possible,  and  even  extremely  probable,  that  our  human 
logic  governs  the  cosmic  phenomena  to  the  same  slight 
degree  as  the  tiny  key  to  your  watch  will  open  the  compli- 
cated lock  of  a  fire-proof  safe?  The  forces  that  govern  our 
organism  and  the  universe  may  still  be  identical,  just  as  the 


^aagemgSi^^g^St 


8 


OPTIMISM  AND  PESSIMISM. 


meclmiiical  principles  upon  which  the  intricate  lock  and 
the  watch  are  constructed  are  the  same.  It  is  then  only  a 
question  of  the  difference  between  something  small  and 
something  infinitely  great,  between  something  compara- 
tively simple  and  something  in  the  highest  degree  compli- 
cated. Nothing  proves  to  us  that  there  is  not  in  nature 
some  vast  mind  or  consciousness,  whose  extent  our  cir- 
cnmacribed  consciousness  is  unable  to  grasp.  We  may 
have  Spinoza's  pantheism  or  Schopenhauer's  will  in  our 
minds — the  name  is  immaterial.  One  thing  is  certain: 
we  see  that  matter,  when  consolidated  in  the  form  of  a 
human  brain,  and  force,  when  acting  as  nerve-power,  pro- 
duce a  consciousness.  The  same  elements  that  form  the 
body  and  brain  of  a  human  being,  among  which,  next  to 
oxygen,  hydrogen,  nitrogen  and  carbon,  iron,  phosphorus, 
sulphur,  calcium,  natrium,  potassium  and  chlorine  are  the 
most  important,  are  also  found  in  enormous  quantities  out- 
side of  the  human  organism ;  the  forces  that  produce  the 
vital  processes,  that  is,  the  chemical  and  mechanical  in- 
iuences,  electricity,  and  other  forms  of  power  that  are 
still  unlcnown  to  us,  are  also  seen  to  be  in  operation  out- 
side of  the  human  organism.  Who,  then,  is  so  bold  as  to 
assert  that  these  elements  and  these  forces  are  unable  to 
produce  a  consciousness  except  in  the  form  of  a  nervous 
system,  except  in  the  form  of  a  human  brain?  Is  it 
not  conceivable  and  even  probable,  that  the  form  of  the 
nervous  system  is  something  accidental,  and  that  the  ele- 
ments composing  it,  the  forces  operating  in  it,  are  all  that 
is  really  essential?  and  that  they  can  also  serve  as  a  foun- 
dation for  a  consciousness  when  they  operate  upon  each 
other  in  some  manner  entirely  different  from  that  which 
prevails  in  the  organisms  accessible  to  our  observation? 

But  I  go  still  farther  and  say :    We  do  not  even  need 
the  assumption  of  a  primal  mind  or  consciousness  to  be 


THE  coffee-mill's  POINT  OF  VIEW. 


9 


I 


I  I 


I 

I 


V 

I 


aware  of  the  fact  that  we  have  no  right  to  measure  the 
aflairs  of  the  universe  with  the  petty  yard-stick  of  human 
logia    Before  we  declare  the  way  in  which  .the  world  is 
managed  to  be  contrary  to  reason,  we  must  first  assume 
that  it  has  some  purpose,  that  it  is  working  toward  some 
special  aim  or  other ;  as  in  the  case  of  a  passer-by  of  whom 
we  know  nothing,  not  even  whether  he  wants  to  reach  any 
special  place  nor  whether  he  is  not  merely  walking  to  keep 
himself  m  motion,  we  surely  have  no  right  to  assert  that  he 
is  selecting  the  wrong  road,  and  going  out  of  his  way,  and 
that  he  does  not  progress  rapidly  enough.    This  presump. 
tion  of  an  aim,  however,  is  entirely  arbitrary.    It  is  cer- 
taihly  conceivable,  that  finality,  as  well  as  causation,  may 
be  a  phenomenon  associated  exclusively  with   organic 
processes,  and  outside  of  the  organism  simply  have  no 
existence.    Experience  has  taught  us  that  no  act  of  the 
reason  or  wUl  is  produced  in  our  brain  without  having  ite 
origin  in  some  preceding  change  in  the  nervous  system, 
or  in  some  impression  on  the  senses.    We  have  for  this 
reason  grown  accustomed  to  presuppose  a  cause  for  each 
one  of  our  actions,  for  each  of  the  processes  occurring  in 
our  organism,  even  when  we  are  not  specially  cognizant  of 
It;  and  we  generalize  this  custom  and  carry  it  into  our 
judgment  of  the  phenomena  which  occur  outside  of  our- 
selves.    Yet  because  our  organs  require  an  external  im- 
pulse  before  they  can  be  set  in  motion,  because  they  do 
not  work  without  some  stimulus,  because  each  change  in 
them  must  necessarily  have  some  cause,  because  they  are^ 
therefore  really  subject  to  the  law  of  causation,  it  does  not^ 
follow  at  aU  that  this  law  governs  matter  under  conditions 
which  are  entirely  different  in  every  respect  from  those  in 
our  organism.    Let  us  suppose  a  coffee-mill  to  be  a  reason- 
ing being;  would  it  not  be  obliged  to  believe  that  a 
woman's  hand  was  the  indispensable  prerequisite  to  all. 


w 


OPflMISM  AND  PESSIMISM* 


motioii,  and  that  no  motion  would  be  conceivable  unless  it 
were  caused  by  a  woman's  hand  turning  a  crank?  If  this 
poor  coffee-mill  were  now  to  see  an  electro-dynamic  machine 
which  is  set  in  motion  without  any  human  hand  coming  near 
it,  this  phenomenon  would  of  course  seem  incredible  and  in- 
conceivable to  it,  and  it  would  seek  in  vain  for  the  causa- 
tion which  in  its  mind  had  assumed  the  exclusive  form  of  a 
woman's  hand.  From  its  point  of  view,  the  coffee-mill  cer- 
tainly can  not  help  supposing  that  motion  is  impossible 
without  the  intervention  of  a  woman's  hand ;  its  experience 
must  lead  it  inevitably  to  this  conclusion,  and  as  regards  all 
coffee-mills  in  general,  it  is  entirely  correct  Yet  we  know, 
nevertheless,  that  it  is  erroneous,  and  that  its  law  admits 
of  no  generalization— that  there  can  be  motion  without  its 
being  produced  by  a  woman's  hand,  even  if,  as  far  as  this 
goes,  some  gallant  simpletons  almost  share  the  coffee-ra ill's 
ideas*  I  do  not  overlook  the  fact  that  the  movement  of 
the  electro-dynamic  machine  is  due  to  a  cause  as  well  as 
that  of  the  coffee-mill ;  but  my  illustration  is  only  to  prove 
that  the  inferences  drawn  from  a  particular  sequence  of  facts 
are  not  at  all  capable  of  being  generalized  into  laws  which 
would  be  applicable  to  different  kinds  of  facts.  The  same 
thing  would  occur  to  a  locomotive  endowed  with  reason, 
in  regard  to  finality,  as  to  my  coffee-mill  in  regard  to  caus- 
ation. It  would  know  that  its  steam  had  for  its  object  the 
turning  of  wheels  by  means  of  the  piston.  If  it  should 
happen  to  be  of  an  epigrammatic  turn  of  mind  or  fond  of 
laconic  expressions,  it  might  exclaim  with  some  little 
self-satisfaction  i)crhaps:  "No  steam  without  revolving 
wheels."  How  intensely  astonished,  then,  this  locomotive 
would  be,  if  it  should  happen  to  stand  before  the  Great  Gey- 
ser and  observe  the  enormous  production  of  steam  which 
yet  did  not  turn  even  the  smallest  kind  of  a  wheel !  This 
would  seem  absurd  to  it;  all  its  preconceptions  of  the  pur- 


OUR  VARIABLE   STANDARDS  OF  MORALITY. 


11 


pose  and  operation  of  steam  would  be  upset)  and  it  would 
not  surprise  me  at  all  if  the  locomotive  were  to  lose  its 
reason  over  this  weird  phenomenon,  not  to  be  explained  by 
any  law  known  to  it.  It  might  even  be  possible  that  the 
changes  of  matter  which  occur  outside  of  our  organism, 
might  have  then*  cause  in  matter  itself,  and  be  their  own 
cause  and  aim ;  that  we  would  therefore  seek  in  vain  for 
an  external  cause  for  them  and  an  external  aim,  which 
presupposes  a  relation  to  some  other  combination  of  mat- 
ter. In  this  case  we  could  no  longer  call  nature  contrary 
to  reason ;  our  criticism  of  its  aims  or  lack  of  aims  would 
have  no  possible  foundation ;  and  to  be  able  to  understand 
and  Judge  it,  to  comprehend  a  cause  and  purpose  in  its 
phenomena,  we  would  have  to  stand  at  the  central  point 
from  whence  these  phenomena  are  evolved. 
r  .  The  complaints  in  regard  to  the  immoral  way  in 
which  the  world  is  managed  are  even  more  a  la  coffee-mill 
than  those  in  regard  to  its  lack  of  purpose.  From  the 
standpoint  of  our  conceptions  of  morality  they  are  cer- 
tamly  well  founded ;  but  who,  pray,  gives  us  the  right  to 
place  ourselves  at  this  standpoint  when  we  wish  to  contem- 
plate nature  and  life?  Our  conception  of  morality  is 
something  restricted  to  the  age  and  the  place ;  it  is  some- 
thing of  historical  growth ;  it  changes  its  pattern  like 
clothes  and  the  shapes  of  hats.  It  is  the  morality  of  white 
and  Christian  mankind  in  this  Nineteenth  Century,  and  of 
no  one  else.  Even  in  the  narrow  limits  within  which 
it  has  at  least  theoretical  sway,  it  has  to  make  many  con- 
cessions and  yield  to  many  contradictions.  It  brands  homi- 
cide as  a  crime  when  it  is  committed  by  a  single  indi- 
vidual, and  glorifies  it  as  something  noble  and  laudable 
when  an  entire  nation  in  arms  perpetrates  it  upon  some 
other  nation.  It  pronounces  deception  and  falsehood  a 
Vice^  yet  it  allows  them  in  diplomacy.    A  great  and  cul- 


12 


OPTimSM  AND  PESSIMISM. 


with  great  seventy  robbery  and  theft  committed  by  indi- 
^duais,  i^garfs  these  crimes  as  of  no  consequence  when 
communiues,  cities  or  states  become  guilts-  of  them  bv 
d^.tfally  proclaiming  themselves  insolvent'  and  defrand 
ing  the,r  creditors.    Our  conception  of  monUity  is  soml 
th.ng  diflTei-ent  today  firom  what  it  was  in  the  known  Xt 
and  It  IS  not  nnreaaonable  to  suppose  that  it  will  be  som2 
thing  stiU  different  again  in  thi  f„t„.^    ut  in  Zrt 
.o^ng  but  a  definition  of  the  conditions  recognized  fo^ 
the  time  bemg  as  useful  to  the  maintenance  of  onr  ra^ 
cast  .n  the  form  of  laws  and  rules.    With  the  deveS 
ment  of  the  human  race  some  of  the  conditions  to  ite  pros- 

2';^!^^'.'  T^  "^"^  "'''"  "'^  ""^  '"^  as  to  wl^t  is 
moral  and  what  immoral.    And  this  variable  standa^l- 

^LTofT""'  ^-'"J--  't  to  be  applied  to  the 
affaus  of  the  universe?  Something  which  even  our  ereat- 
^d-fathers  did  not  accept,  and  which  perhaps  onr^and- 
children  W.U  no  longer  recognize  as  the  truth,  is  this  to  be 
the  immutable  law  of  eternal  nature  I    If  some  siHv  «ri 

zzn^y^.''''^:  '""*"™  ''"^  «°*  of  «>«  4  s 

mut  npon  its  color  changing  every  day  with  that  of  Im 

n^iv^^„    .         7^  ^""*'  "^  """^"'^  "«  t"^"  '^'•itic  of  the 
arbitKio-  tj-itmny  m  the  way  the  world  is  mana4d 

-a^istoUe's  geocentric  theory  has  been  abandoned  in 
cosmology  ever  since  the  time  of  Copc^cur  iT Is  n^ 
tonger  believed  and  taught  that  our  earth  is  the  cent  e  S 

nature ,  that  the  moon  was  created  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
lUummatmg  our  nights,  and  the  stany  host  to3^„ 
snmles  for  our  lyric  poets.  In  philosophy.  hoCr Tsb^ 
«dhere  to  this  puerile  conception  and  abuse  the  whole  sj^ 


THE  bacterium's  CONCEPTION  OP  MORALITY.         13 

tern  of  the  universe  as  idiotic  because  the  supply  of  coal 
will  probably  be  exhausted  in  time,  and  because  Cracatoa 
was  destroyed  with  some  thousands  of  people  as  fond  of 
life  as  we  are ;  and  we  consider  it  immoral  because  Joan  of 
Arc  was  burnt  at  the  stake,  because  Gustavus  Adolphus 
fell  at  Luetzen,  and  because  so  many  loving  mothers  die  at 

child-birth. 

If  the  bacteria  of  decomposition  are  capable  of  philo- 
sophical reasoning,  how  dismal  their  prospects  must  seem 
to  them !  All  the  world's  inventions,  regarded  from  their 
point  of  view  are  horrible  and  hideously  immoral  and  are 
daily  becoming  more  so.  The  broom  and  the  scrubbing- 
brush,  the  fatal  acid  and  the  dreadful  hot  water  have  con- 
spired together  against  their  existence ;  that  which  might 
serve  as  nourishment  for  them,  is  removed,  destroyed, 
made  inaccessible  to  them  by  invisible  powers.  That  de- 
stroying agent,  carbolic  acid,  often  breaks  into  their  life 
just  when  they  are  most  comfortably  situated,  and  changes 
their  merry  revelry  into  a  dance  of  death,  in  which  the 
virtuous  bacterium  must  join  as  well  as  the  vicious  one. 
But  the  very  things  that  must  be  to  them  the  cause  for 
a  really  justifiable  pessimism  are  described  by  us  in 
ponderous  volumes  as  the  progress  of  sanitation,  ^nd  eulo- 
gized as  a  subject  for  congratulation. 

I  can  imagine  an  insect  endowed  with  a  taste  for  art — 
a  fly  for  instance,  which  might  consider  the  little  bee,  the 
mint-mark  on  French  twenty-franc  pieces  of  a  certain  date, 
especially  beautiful— and  there  is  nothing  absurd  in  this 
illustration,  for  the  preference  of  this  insect  for  paintings 
and  statues  is  known  only  too  well  and  disagreeably  to  all 
neat  housekeepers.  But  suppose  it  happens  to  fly  past  the 
colossal  statue  of  Bavaria  at  Munich— how  devoid  of  sense, 
how  illogical,  how  unshapely  this  mass  of  metal  must 
seem  to  the  tiny  insect— without  beginning  or  end ;  first 


14 


ixfiiiiiiBM  AND  nssniiiif. 


inodmppeliensibly  smooth,  then  strangely  rough;  hero 
mm%  titfUQge,  aimieas  deiralioii,  there  some  irregular  de- 
peeeion ;  and  if  the  aeslheio  fly  were  obliged  to  pass  its 
lie  in  the  interior  of  the  great  statue,  it  could  write  a  book 
illl  of  bitter  epigrams  upon  Its  conception  of  the  universe; 
and  dilate  most  eloquently  upon  the  lack  of  purpose  and 
sense  in  its  world,  in  a  way  sure  to  convince  ,all  its  com- 
pmion  insects  in  the  interior  of  the  colossal  fiavaria 
And  yet  it  would  not  have  come  anywhere  near  the  truth, 
as  any  ordinarily  intelligent  courier  or  guide  in  Municb 
could  prove  to  it  without  the  least  difficulty. 

Mo,  no ;  the  philosophy  of  pessimism  can  not  bear 
eeiious  investigatioa     As  far  as  it  Is  honest  it  seems  to 
be  only  one  form  of  profound  dissatisfaction  with  the  llmit- 
atlona  of  our  understanding.    W©  would  like  to  compre- 
hend t^e  mechanism  of  the  world,  but  we  cannot;  this 
provokes  us,  and  we  consequently  abuse  it;  just  aa  an  un- 
sophisticated savage  would  throw  down  a  music  box  In  a 
Wge,  after  be  had  tried  In  vain  to  comprehend  its  construo- 
tioa    We  glorify  ourselves  as  the  lords  of  creation  and 
yet  we  are  obliged  to  admit,  little  by  little,  that  our  lord- 
ahip  has  after  all  not  so  very  much  to  rest  upon.    We  lose 
our  temper  at  this ;  we  reduce  our  bad  humor  to  a  science 
—and  call  It  peiifmlsm.    The  child  that  fttretches  out  its 
band  for  tbe  ^oon  and  begins  to  cry  because  it  cannot 
reach  it,  is  a  pessimist  also  in  its  way  without  knowing  it 
Qnl^  Its  pessimism  can  be  easily  cured  with  a  little  candy. 
It  is,  however,  gratifying  to  learn  that  as  a  rule,  the 
sysleinatic  advocates  of  pessimism  can  enjoy  good  food  and 
good  drink,  |hat  after  a  sentimental  courtship  conducted 
according  to  the  most  approved  methods,  they  get  married 
with  all  due  ceremony,  and  have  a  highly  developed  appre- 
claMon  of  everything  agreeable  In  life.    Their  philosophy 
la  an  official  robe  for  great  occasions,  and  as  such  Imposing 


PRACTICAL  PESSIMISM. 


15 


I' 


enough  for  the  admiring  crowd  of  spectators;  but  we 
know  that  under  the  sacred  robe  with  the  skull  and  cross- 
bones,  they  wear  the  usual  every-day  underclothing,  the 
invisible  but  comfortable  flannel  vest  such  as  Tom,  Dick, 
and  Harry  are  wearing  too. 

Besides  this  genuine  scientific  pessimism,  which  does 
not  preclude  the  greatest  enjoyment  of  real  life,  there  is 
also  a  practical  pessimism,  known  familiarly  as  crankiness. 
This  kind  of  pessimism  neither  reasons  nor  argues.  It 
has  no  systems,  no  classifications.  It  does  not  make  the 
slightest  attempt  to  explain  why  the  world  and  life  are  not 
satisfactory  to  it ;  it  merely  feels  instinctively  and  in  all 
sincerity  that  everything  that  exists  is  unendurable  and 
tends  to  produce  destructive  thoughts.  Such  a  pessimism 
can  not  be  refuted ;  it  can  only  be  analyzed.  It  is  always 
the  attendant  phenomenon  of  some  disease  of  the  brain, 
either  already  fully  developed  or  as  yet  only  in  its  incipi- 
ent stages.  Years  before  one  of  these  unfortunate  candi- 
dates for  the  lunatic  asylum  is  pronounced  insane,  he 
suffers  from  melancholia,  shuns  society  and  becomes  mis- 
anthropical An  imperfectly  developed  organ  of  thought 
or  one  subject  to  inherent  destructive  tendencies,  has  the 
dismal  gift  of  perceiving  its  own  approaching  collapse, 
of  observing  its  progress,  and  of  realizing  the  fact  that 
it  has  begun  to  decay.  In  such  cases  the  mind  has  its 
own  dissolution  perpetually  before  its  eyes,  and  this  horri- 
ble spectacle  fascinates  it  to  such  an  extent  that  it  retains 
only  a  weak  and  distracted  power  of  perception  for  other 
phenomena.  Such  a  brain  must  necessarily  reflect  the 
world  like  an  eye  overgrown  with  a  cataract, — as  the  tragic 
darkness  of  chaos.  All  the  great  poets  of  the  "world-is- 
outrof-joint "  style  have  been  deranged  organisms.  Lenau 
died  a  lunatic;  Leopardi  was  a  suflerer  from  certain 
generic  affections  well  known   to  physicians  conversant 


OPTIMISM  AND  P188IMI8M, 


with  mental  disease;  Heine  was  never  gloomy  nor  melan- 
cliolv  until  his  spinal  disease  had  extended  its  constantly 
increasing  depredations  to  his  hrain ;  and  Lord  Byron  s 
eccentricity  of  character  is  called  genius  by  the  unprofes- 
sional, while  the  psychologist's  technical  term  for  it  is 
psychosis.  This  pessimism  which  wrings  its  hands  at  the 
sight  of  a  pair  of  lovers,  and  bursts  into  sobs  on  a  bright 
May  morning,  without  cause,  without  consolation  and 
without  any  respite,  is  a  disease ;  and  no  healthy  person 
will  ever  think  of  such  a  thing  as  adopting  it 

These  are  the  two  kinds  of  honest  pessimism  which 
alone  have  any  claim  to  criticism.  In  atldition  to  these, 
there  is,  it  is  true,  a  hypocritical  gloomy  disposition  much 
affected  by  certain  fools  who  imagine  it  is  becoming  to 
them.  It  is  a  dainty  dilettanteism,  an  intellectual  token 
of  superiority  which  distinguishes  them  from  the  common 
herd.  A  certain  pallor  of  thought  is  considered  interest- 
ing by  persons  #  iierverted  tiistes,  like  pale  cheeks.  They 
are  Has^  and  bitter  in  onler  to  create  the  impression  that 
they  have  had  many  and  remarkable  experiences,  that 
they  liave  been  the  heroes  of  numliers  of  strange  adven- 
tures.  They  sigh  and  groan  ti>  make  others  believe  that 
they  are  memliers  of  the  small  and  extremely  aristocratic 
company  which  has  teen  initiated  into  the  Eleusinian  mys- 
teries of  suffering.  It  is  not  worth  while  wasting  our  time 
analyzing  i^ssimists  of  this  class.  We  poke  them  in  the 
ribs  hi  the  French  fashion,  and  say :    "  Ah,  you  rogue ! " 

I  have  called  the  pessimism  of  the  day  the  most 
astonishing  marvel  the  world  has  yet  produced,  meaning 
by  this  that  it  was  a  triumph  of  the  imagination  over  real- 
ity and  a  preof  of  the  ability  of  man  to  force  nature  in 
spite  of  her  most  vigorous  resistance  into  a  dress  designed 
for  her  by  his  eiipricc.  Just  as  lie  causes  the  spreading 
crown  of  branches  of  noble  trees  Ui  grow  in  the  senseless 


PESSDIISM   AS   A  FASHION. 


17 


I 


shape  of  animals  and  architectural  designs,  and  as  he 
compels  water  in  spite  of  its  most  emphatically  expressed 
disinclination,  to  flow  up  hill  by  means  of  pumping 
machinery,  so  he  constructs  out  of  facts  which  offer  him 
the  liveliest  and  brightest  ideas,  a  most  dismal  point  of 
view  for  the  universe,  and  carries  his  pessimism  into 
nature  which  sings  and  proclaims  optimism  from  all  the 
bells  of  her  flowers  and  throats  of  her  birds. 

For  this  is  exactly  what  nature  is  doing,  and  it  is  not 
even  necessary  to  listen  with  especial  attention  to  hear  it, 
for  the  sound  will  penetrate,  even  if  we  stuff  our  ears  full 
of  scholastic  and  pedantic  cotton.  The  primal  instinct  of 
man  from  which  all  his  ideas  and  actions  proceed,  is 
optimism.  Every  attempt  to  uproot  it  is  futile ;  for  it  is 
the  essential  foundation  of  our  being  and  can  only  be  de- 
stroyed with  it. 

If  we  inspect  closer  the  principal  subjects  for  the 
complaints  of  pessimism,  we  find  that  they  proceed  from  a 
superfluity  of  rank  self-conceit,  and  that  they  might  be 
compared  to  the  cares  that  his  wealth  entails  upon  the  mil- 
lionaire.    We  are  discontented  with  the  lack  of  purpose  in 
the  universe  as  a  whole,  or  rather  with  man's  incapacity  to 
discover  its  purpose.     But  is  not  this  discontent  in  itself 
alone  an  indication  of  the  high  development  to  which  the 
human  mind  has  attained?  and  have  we  not  cause  to  rejoice 
at  what  has  been  already  achieved?     The  mere  inquiry  as 
to  the  final  aim  of  nature  requires  a  certain  vigor  and 
power  of  thought.     What  a  broad  mental  horizon  is  neces- 
sary before  even  problems  such  as  these  can  be  recognized  ! 
And  to  what  beautiful  prospects  man  must  have  climbed, 
how  many  intellectual  enjoyments  and  delights  he  must 
have  experienced  on  the  way,  before  he  attained  to  the 
lofty  position  where  he  believes  himself  really  justified 
in  and  capable  of  summoning  the  universe  to  his  feet  and 


18 


OPTIJilSM   AND   PESSIMISM, 


saying  to  it  with  the  authority  of  a  chief  inspector :  "  You 
must  have  been  designed  in  accordance  with  some  plan ;  I 
wish  to  examine  this  plan  so  as  to  pass  judgment  upon 
it!"  No  animal  ever  feels  the  pessimism  of  self-insuf- 
ficiency (the  Weitschmerz),  and  our  progenitor,  the  contem- 
porary of  the  cave-tears,  was  certainly  free  from  all 
anxiety  as  to  the  final  destiny  of  mankind  j  when  this  pri- 
meval realist  had  eaten  all  he  wanted,  he  unquestionably 
thought  that  his  life  had  sufflcient  occupation  ;  and  if  he 
hapi)ened  to  have  any  other  desire  left,  we  ma}^  safely 
assume  that  it  was  to  go  to  sleep  undisturted.  But  we 
have  become  more  cultured  with  the  increasing  facial  angle, 
and  we  have  ideals  far  above  and  beyond  a  fat  buffalo 
steak;  and  while,  as  is  only  natural,  our  zeal  for  intel- 
lectual acquirements  becomes  more  and  more  eager  the 
larger  the  amount  of  intellectual  capital  we  have  accumu- 
lated, and  as  we  have  already  come  such  a  wonderful  dis- 
tance, we  can  no  longer  endure  to  have  any  limit  set  to 
our  fhrther  advance  and  progress. 

The  case  is  similar  in  regard  to  one  of  the  other  com- 
plaints of  pessimism :  that  concerning  the  presence  of 
pain  in  the  world.  What  short-sightedness ;  I  am  almost 
disposed  to  saj',  what  ingratitude !  But,  noble  pessimists, 
if  pain  did  not  exist,  it  would  have  to  be  invented !  It  is 
one  of  the  most  tenevolent  and  most  useful  of  nature's 
provisions.  In  the  first  place,  pain  presupposes  a  sound 
and  highly  developed  nervous  system ;  and  this  is  also  the 
preliminary  condition  to  all  the  agreeable  sensations,  whose 
presence  in  life  we  certainly  cannot  deny.  The  lower 
foiins  of  life  are  incapable  of  acute  sensations  of  pain ;  but 
we  may  assume  that  in  the  same  way  their  agreeable  sen- 
sations are  ineomparabl}'  duller  and  feebler  than  our  own. 
It  would  te  altogether  too  extraordinaiy  if  our  senses  were 
sufficiently  acute  to  delight  in  the  perfume  of  a  rose,  or 


> 


PAIN   OUR  GUARDIAN   ANGEL. 


19 


one  of  Beethoven's  symphonies,  or  Titian's  paintings,  and 
yet  were  insensible  to  the  odor  of  decomposition,   the 
grating  of  a  file  against  the  teeth  of  a  saw,  and  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  cancer.     Ask  a  hysterical  invalid  afflicted  with 
paralysis  in  one  or  both  sides  of  her  body,  whether  she  is 
pleased  with  her  utterly  painless  condition  !     The  external 
world  can  not  inflict  pain  upon  her ;  but  neither  can  it  yield 
her  any  agreeable  sensations,  and  after  a  brief  experience 
she  will  beg  and  pray  to  be  made  able  to  feel  pain  again. 
Scores  of  times  I  have  been  a  witness  when  an  invalid  like 
this  would  scream  with  delight  when  first  the  prick  of  a  nee- 
dle hurt  her  once  more.     Pain  has  the  role  ascribed  to  the 
guardian  angel  by  superstitious  miners ;  it  is  our  monitor 
which  shows  us  danger  and  warns  us  to  struggle  against  it 
or  flee  from  it.    It  is  therefore  our  best  friend,  the  preserver 
of  our  life  and  the  source  of  our  intensest  enjoyments.    For 
pain  incites  us  to  effort  to  counteract  its  causes,  and  this 
effort  is  associated  with  the  highest  display  of  our  capabil- 
ities,  and    affords   us   that    incomparable   delight  which 
always  attends  the  active  expression  of  our  individuality. 
Without  pain  our  life  would  last  but  a  moment,  for  we 
would  not  know  how  to  recognize  injurious  objects  and 
hence  could  not  protect  ourselves  against  them.     One  of 
these  improvers  of  tlie  world  might  perhaps  urge  in  objec- 
tion that  it  is  possible  to  conceive  of  such  a  thing  as  intui- 
tion taking  the  place  of  the  sensation  of  pain.    It  would  not 
be  necessary  then  for  us  to  be  warned  by  suffering  to  put 
ourselves  in  a  position  of  defense  against  threatening  influ- 
ences—a painless  intuitive  perception  of  what  is  injm-ious 
might  render  us  the  same  service.     It  may  be  observed  in 
reply  to  this  that  either  the  intuition  would  not  be  powerful 
enough  to  spur  and  arouse  us  to  action,  and  in  that  case  we 
might  not  respond  always  or  in  a  sufficient  measure  to  its 
admonitions,  and  thus  we  would  be  easily  vanquished  by 


20 


OPTIMISM   AMD  PESSIMISM. 


the  enemies  to  oiir  existence^ — or  its  warning  would  be  so 
forcible  and  urgent  that  we  should  he  obliged  to  respond 
with  an  excessive  exertion  of  all  our  powers,  and  in  that 
case  we  should  experience  it  as  pain  just  as  in  the  warn- 
ings now  given  us  b}'  oiir  sensor}'  nerves. 

What  pain  is  to  the  physical  organism,  discontent  is 
to  the  mental  and  moral.  If  it  appears  with  suflieient  vio- 
lence to  be  recognized  as  suffering,  it  becomes  an  incentive 
to  alter  and  improve  the  circumstances  which  cause  it,  by 
the  exertion  of  all  our  faculties.  The  idea  of  regarding 
his  surroundinj^s  with  glances  eager  for  destruction,  will 


never  occur  to  a  happy  man.  Even  Hercules  would  not 
have  performed  his  twelve  Mmm  without  comi)ulsion, 
though  they  did  not  cost  him  much  of  anything,  and  te- 
fore  we  feel  like  making  our  be4ls  over  again,  we  must  first 
lie  uncomfortably.  Discontent  is  therefore  the  cause  of 
all  progress,  and  those  who  lament  its  presence  in  our 
mental  and  moral  life  aa  a  calamity,  ought  to  have  the 
courage  to  acknowledge  in  tlie  liret  place  that  the  condem- 
nation of  mankind  to  an  uiicliniiging,  life-long,  Chinese 
iort  of  existence  is  their  highc'.st  ulcal. 

However,  discontent  with  the  existing  circumstances 
in  which  an  individual  or  an  entire  people  is  obligetl  to 
live  can  not  be  applied  as  an  argument  in  favor  of  pessi- 
mism. It  is,  on  the  contrary,  still  another  proof  of  the 
fact  that  an  indestructilile  optimism  is  the  foundation  of 
all  our  thought.  For  every  criticism  is  the  result  of  a 
comparison  instituted  in  the  mind  between  the  actual  and 
the  ideal  conditions,  which  latter  we  have  constructed  in 
the  world  of  our  imagination,  and  which  we  regard  as  per- 
feci  But  the  fact  that  we  can  formulate  such  a  criticism 
with  more  or  less  distinctness,  is  based  upon  the  idea  that 
the  circumstances  which  we  consider  wrong  or  unendura- 
ble are  capable  of  a  change  for  the  better;  and  this  idea 


DISCONTENT   ONE   PHASE   OP  OPTIMISM. 


21 


must  certainly  be  called  an  optimistic  one.     And  not  only 
this:   while  we  are  thus  grumbling  at  something  which 
already  exists,  while  we  are  clearly  thinking  or  indistinctly 
feeling  that  it  might  be  better  or  how  it  might  be  made 
better'^'  we    have  already  carried  out   the   improvement 
potentially.     In  the  imagination  of  the  discontented  indi- 
vidual the  transformation  is  already  an  accomplished  fact, 
and  has  for  him,  at  least,  that  degree  of  reality  which  all 
things  possess  in  our  consciousness— a  reality  which  is  the 
same  in  the  perception  of  the  external  world  by  means  of 
the  sensory  nerves,  as  it  is  in  the  creations  of  our  imaginar 
tion,  that  is,  an  improved  ideal  world,  formed  by  some  com- 
bined action  of  the  brain  cells.     Thus  every  discontented 
person  is  in  his  own  mind,  a  reformer,  a  creator  of  a  new 
world,  which  exists  in  his  imagination,  and  which  includes 
all  the  conditions  necessary  to  human  happiness ;  and  if| 
he  is  skilled  in  analyzing  his  own  sensations,  he  will  soon 
discover  that  his  discontent  with  existent  objects  leads  to 
his  being  highly  satisfied  with  himself,  and  that  the  pleas- 
ure aftbrded  him  by  this  ideal  world  of  his  own  creation  at 
least  balances  the  displeasure  occasioned  by  the  world  of 
reality.     And  here  I  do  not  hesitate  to  give  my  argument 
a  personal  turn  and  ask  the  honest  philosopher  of  pessi- 
mism whether  he  is  not  exceedingly  pleased  with  himself 
when  he  has  succeeded  in  setting  forth  in  a  convincing 
style  the  general  depravity  and  lack  of  reason  in  the  world 
and  in  life?     He  may  perhaps  jump  up  from  his  writing 
table  and  run  to  embrace  his  wife  in  his  delight,  if  some 
page  of  his  dissertation  has  turned  out  an  especially  deep 
black ;  and  when  his  book  is  finished  he  reads  some  chap- 
ter in  it  aloud  to  his  friends  in  the  club  room,  and  experi- 
ences as  he  does  so  an  internal  satisfaction  which  alone 
would  make  life  for  him  well  worth  living. 

To  sum  it  all  up :  our  bitterness  at  our  failure  to  un- 


^uyM^du^ 


A49 
mimi 


OPTIMISM   AND'  ■PE88I3II8M. 


derstand  the  mecbanisin  and  purpose  of  the  universe  is  a 
proof  of  the  high  development  of  our  fjowers  of  thought, 
which  jield  us  continual  gratification  and  delight;  phys- 
ical pain  is  an  indication  of  the  health  and  capabilities  of 
our  nervous  system,  to  which  we  owe  all  the  agreeable 
sensations  of  our  existence,  and  discontent  is  the  cause  of 
E  creative  activity  in  our  imagination  which  is  to  us  the 
source  of  great  piivate  satisfaction.  Where  |>essimism 
uomes  in  here,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  determine. 

I  hope  no  one  will  so  far  misunderstand  my  arguments 
as  to  consider  me  a  disciple  of  the  sage  Pangloss.  I  am 
by  no  means  a  believer  in  the  doctrine  taught  by  this 
philosopher  of  content,  and  am  far  from  maintaining  that 
this  is  the  best  of  all  iwssible  worlds.  What  I  assert  is 
something  very  different  to  this.  I  say  that  this  world 
may  be  the  best  or  the  worst  of  all  possible  worlds,  or  any- 
where between  these  extremes ;  yet  mankind  will  always 
and  forever  consider  it  desirable.  Man  has  the  wonderful 
faculty  of  accepting  with  a  certain  grim  toleration  the  nat- 
ural conditions  which  are  absolutely  beyond  his  power  to 
alter,  and  more  than  this,  of  becoming  accustomed  to  them, 
and  learning  to  regard  them  as  pleasant  and  matters  of 
course,  and  finally  of  becoming  so  attached  to  them  that 
he  has  no  desire  to  exchange  them  for  others,  even  if  he 
can  imagine  far  better  ones.  This,  certainly,  is  only  possi- 
ble because  the  web  of  his  being,  upon  which  exi>erience 
embroiders  all  sorts  of  melancholy  figures,  consists  of  opti- 
mism, pure  and  simple. 

Can  there  possibly  be  any  necessity  for  examples  to 
illustrate  these  assertions?  They  are  close  at  hand.  Even 
the  professional  pessimist  concedes  the  beauty  of  nature 
and  rejoices  in  a  fair  summer  day,  when  the  sun  shines 
forth  from  the  cloudless  blue  of  the  heavens,  and  in  a 
balmy  night  in  June,  with  the  full  moon  in  the  midst  of 


A  FLIGHT   INTO   SPACE. 


23 


ten  thousand  twinkling  stiirs.  On  the  other  hand,  an  in- 
habitant of  Venus,  transplanted  suddenly  to  our  earth, 
would  probably  find  it  a  dreary  wilderness  of  cold  and 
darkness.  Accustomed  to  the  dazzling  light  and  furnace 
heat  of  his  native  planet,  he  would  probably  shiver  with 
cold  in  our  tropical  noon,  and  consider  our  most  gorgeous 
colors  faded  and  ashen,  our  most  brilliant  lights  pale  and 
dim.  And  how  dull,  how  dead  our  sky  with  its  solitary 
moon,  would  seem  to  an  inhabitant  of  Saturn,  accustomed 
to  the  inconceivably  brilliant  shifting  panorama  of  eight 
moons,  and  two  rings,  and  possibly  even  more  than  two, 
which  with  their  rising  and  setting,  their  constantly  chang- 
ing relative  positions,  and  their  complicated  motion  present 
to  his  view  a  wealth  of  variety  of  which  we  are  unable  to 
form  even  an  approximate  conception.  And  yet  we  have 
no  longing  whatever  for  the  magnificent  sunshine  of  Venus 
and  the  bewildering  quadrille  of  Saturn's  moons,  but  are 
as  gratefully  content  with  our  paltry  astronomical  sur- 
roundings as  if  we  had  really  been  sitting  at  the  feet  of 
Pangloss.  And  why  need  we  introduce  the  inhabitants  of 
our  sister  planets?  There  is  no  necessity  for  any  flight 
into  space  to  demonstrate  the  optimism  of  mankind.  We 
need  only  glance  at  the  polar  regions.  Human  beings  are 
living  there  whose  cheerfulness  has  be6n  remarked  by  all 
explorers.  They  can  conceive  of  nothing  more  superb  than 
their  icy  habitations  and  their  eternal  night ;  and  if  there 
were  poets  among  them,  they  would  sing  of  the  fearful  snowy 
wastes  of  Greenland  without  doubt,  as  our  bards  declaim  of 
some  landscape  on  the  Rhine,  with  vine-clad  hills,  fields  of 
waving  grain,  and  dusky  forests  in  the  background.  This 
idea,  by  the  way,  gives  us  a  more  cheerful  prospect  for  the 
future  ice-period,  which  the  earth  is  approaching  as  it 
grows  older,  if  the  cooling  hypothesis  be  correct.  When 
we  picture  this  future  in  our  imagination,  we  usually  think 


24 


OPTIMISM  AND  PESSIMISM. 


of  the  last  hnmm  beings  as  enveloped  in  sealskins,  crouch- 
ing over  a  miserable  fire  made  of  the  last  remaining  coals, 
holding  their  lean  hands  over  the  scanty  blaze,  and  forlorn, 
forlorn  as  a  consnmptive  orang-ontang  in  the  Berlin 
zoological  garden.  This  picture  is  certainly  erroneous. 
Judging  of  our  descendants  of  the  glacial  era  by  the 
Esquim'aux  of  the  present  day,  I  am  convinced  that  the 
former  will  be  the  jolliest  fellows  imaginable.  They  will 
form  carnival  societies,  hold  daily  festivals  upon  the  ice, 
keep  the  cold  out  of  their  limbs  by  unwearied  dancing, 
enjoy  their  melted  blubber  accompanied  by  gay  and  noisy 
drinking  songs,  and  consider  their  lot  a  most  happy  one. 
When  finally  the  very  last  human  being  freezes  to  death, 
he  will  probably  die  with  a  broad  smile  ou  his  lips  and  the 
latest  number  of  Punch  or  the  Kladderadatsch  of  the  day 

in  his  rigid  hands. 

The  iM>et  tells  us,  it  is  true,  that  life  is  not  the  highest 
good ;  we  think  and  feel,  however,  as  if  it  were.  The 
thought  of  the  cessation  of  our  consciousness,  the  annihi- 
lation of  our  i>ersonality,— death,  even  if  not  our  own,  but 
that  of  our  parents,  children,  or  any  one  we  love,  causes  us 
the  bitterest  pangs  that  we  are  capable  of  experiencing, 
and  we  are  unable  to  wish  for  ourselves  and  our  friends 
any  more  precious  boon  than  a  long  life.  But  what  is  a 
long  life?  A  hundred,  a  hundred  and  twenty  years ;  these 
are^the  higliest  figures  ;  noboily  would  ask  for  more  than 
this.  A  centenarian  feels  that  he  is  to  lie  envied ;  and  on 
the  other  hand,  we  lament  the  fate  of  the  young  man 
obliged  to  die  in  his  twentieth  or  twenty-fifth  year.  These 
ideas,  accepted  so  universally,  which  we  neither  oppose 
nor  criticise,  are  the  logical  result  of  our  perennial  opti- 
mism. We  are  satisfied  with  a  hundred  years,  or  less,  be- 
cause we  scarcely  ever  see  au  instance  in  which  this  limit 
is  passed.    If  two  or  three  hundred  years  were  the  average 


OPTIMISM   IN   REGARD   TO   DEATH. 


25 


length  of  the  life  of  man,  as  is  said  to  be  the  case  with  the 
raven,  the  carp  and  the  elephant,  we  would  want  to  live 
two  or  three  hundred  years,  and  mourn  if  we  were  told 
that  we  must  die  at  one  hundred  and  fifty,  although  at 
present  we  do  not  even  want  more  than  a  hundred.     On 
the  contrary,  if  man's  organism  were  adapted  for  a  life  of 
thirty  or  thirty-five  years  at  most,  like  that  of  the  horse, 
for  example,  no  one  would  wish  to  grow  any  older  than 
thirty  or  thirty-five,  and  we  would  consider  an  individual 
dying  at  this  age  as  fortunate  as  we  now  consider  him  an 
object  of  pity.     And  more  than  this :  if  we  knew  of  an 
instance— even  one  single  instance-of  a  person's  having 
escaped  the  inexorable  law  of  death,  nobody  would  ever 
want  to  die.     Each  individual  would  hope,  wish  and  dream 
that  this  phenomenon,  observed  but  once,  would  be  re- 
peated in  his  own  case.     The  giv^at  majority  of  mankind 
would  then  look  upon  death  in  about  the  same  way  as  they 
now  regard  a  Chinese  execution,  where  the  victim  is  sawed 
in  two  between  a  couple  of  boards— as  a  terrible  and  ex- 
ceptional  fate  which  sometimes  befalls   individuals,  but 
which  all  strive  to  avoid  by  every  means  in  their  power. 
As  we  have  never  heard,  however,  of  any  one's  having 
escaped  death,  we  all  become  reconciled  to  the  idea  of 
shufllino-  off  this  mortal  coil  without  any  special  difficulty, 
and  even  without  any  special  grief,  and  we  only  hope  that 
it  will  occur  at  an  advanced  age.     Might  it  not  be  possible 
for  man  to  live  several  hundred,  several  thousand  years? 
We  see  no  reasonable  objection  why  this  miglit  not  be. 
But  we  do  not  wish  for  it,  simply  because  we  know  it  can 
not  be.     Is  it  absolutely  necessary,  after  all,  that  death 
should  put  an  end  to  our  individual  existence?     We  are 
unable  to  perceive  any  real  necessity  for  it,  although  in  the 
last  three  years,  Weismann  and  Gotte  have  attempted  to 
prove  that  it  is  a  decree  designed  in  the   interest  of 


26 


OFTMISM  AND  PESSIMISM. 


I 


the  race.  Aed  yet  we  accept  the  fearful  fact  of  death, 
Bimply  because  we  know  it  to  be  inevitable.  We  are,  in 
short,  so  happily  organized  that  we  accept  what  is  actual, 
what  is  absolutely  unavoidable,  witli  unconcern,  and  do 
not  distress  ourselves  further  with  dismal  thoughts.  This 
explains  among  other  things  the  possibility  of  that  dispo- 
sition to  gayety  of  humor  proverbial  among  criminals  on 
their  way  to  the  gallows.  Its  occurrence  cannot  be 
doubted,  for  it  has  teen  observed  by  many  reliable  wit- 
nesses. The  condemned  criminal  becomes  reconciled  even 
to  the  rope,  when  he  is  at  last  convinced  that  it  is 
inevitable. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  faintest,  the  remotest  possi- 
bilit}'  remains  that  a  condition  can  l»e  changed,  an  evil 
avoided,  or  some  event  hap|)en  in  his  favor,  how  triumph- 
antly, how  irrepressiWy  does  the  innate  optimism  of  man 
burst  fortli  again  !  A  chance  so  infinitesimal  that  no  man 
in  his  senses  would  stake  his  money  on  it,  |}erhaps  even  so 
minute  thiit  it  is  lieyond  the  range  of  probability,  serves 
Mm  for  the  foundation  to  the  most  elaborate  castles  in  the 
air,  and  works  liim  np  to  a  state  of  exijectancy  which 
almost  approaches  bliss.  Here  is  an  extreme  example  of 
the  tendency  of  mankind  to  optimism.  A  lottery  was  in- 
stituted in  France  in  which  the  great  prize  was  500,000 
francs.  Fourteen  million  tickets  were  issued,  of  which 
one  only  could  be  the  successfiil  one.  Each  purchaser  of 
a  ticket  thus  acquired  one  fonrteen-millionth  of  a  chance 
that  the  great  prize  would  fall  to  him.  To  exhibit  the 
value  of  this  fraction  I  will  introduce  an  analogj^  There 
are  in  Euro|>e  alx)ut  100,000  millionaires,  and  probably 
over  500,000  persons  who  i)osses8  half  a  million.  We  will 
omit  the  half  million  and  take  only  the  one  hundred 
thousand  named  as  a  basis  for  our  calculation.  Now  let 
118  assume  that  out  of  ten  millionaires  one  is  childless, 


A  MATHEMATICAL  CALCULATION. 


27 


5 


without  near  relatives,  or  at  enmity  with  his  family  and  in 
the  mood  to  leave  liis  entire  property  to  some  person 
whose  acquaintance  he  has  happened  to  make,  and  to  whom 
he  has  become  attached.  Europe  contains  at  present  about 
320  millions  of  inhabitants.  There  is  therefore  for  every 
32,000  Europeans  one  millionaire  who  is  only  waiting 
for  an  opportunity  to  bequeath  his  million  or  millions  to 
one  of  these  32,000  people.  The  proportion  is  even  more 
favorable  for  a  German  or  an  Englishman  in  reality,  as 
millionaires  are  more  numerous  in  Gennany  or  England, 
than  they  are  in  Russia  or  Italy,  for  instance.  The  proba- 
bility that  any  one  of  us,  without  buying  any  ticket,  will 
inherit  the  wealth  of  some  millionaire,  is  therefore  at  least 
one  thirty-two  thousandth,  and  is,  accordingly,  four  hun- 
dred and  thirty-seven  times  as  great  as  the  probability 
that  the  holder  of  a  ticket  in  the  ^'Lotcrie  ties  Arts''  will 
win  the  prize  of  500,000  francs.  If  we  confine  our  desires 
to  half  a  million,  the  probability  that  it  will  be  left  to  us 
by  some  wholly  unknown  benefactor — not  even  related  to 
us  as  closely  as  the  proverbial  American  uncle — is  even 
twentj^-five  hundred  times  as  great  as  the  chance  of  such  a 
ticketrholder.  Yet  none  of  us  would  hope  for  this  million 
or  half  a  million  and,  still  less,  count  upon  it.  In  a  single 
country,  however,  twelve  million  people  were  found  who 
were  willing  to  pay  a  franc  for  one  chance  in  fourteen 
million  of  winning  the  prize,  and  based  serious  expecta- 
tions upon  it,  although  they  were  437  or  2500  times  less 
justified  than  any  one  among  us,  although  we  pay  nothing 
for  our  chance  of  becoming  a  millionaire's  heir.  It  is  my 
opinion  that  instead  of  replying  to  the  professional  pessi- 
mists with  reasons,  we  ought  to  send  them  as  a  final, 
crushing  argument,  a  ticket  to  the  '^Loterie  ties  Arts.'' 

Let  us  reverse  the  circumstances.     We  all  do  things 
which  expose  us  to  the  danger  of  death,  with  a  proportion 


■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■I Ill 


Zo 


OFT'IMISM  AMB  PESSIMISM. 


of  probabilitj'  mocli  larger  than  one  in  fourteen  millions. 
On  the  railways  of  Europe  for  instance,  one  traveler  in  less 
than  each  fourteen  millions  is  killed  annually.  Is  any  one 
sufficiently  pessimistic  to  abandon  the  use  of  the  railroad 
on  this  account?  The  fourteen-millionth  of  a  possibility 
is  evidently  not  enough  to  ftighten  us ;  but  it  is  large 
enough  to  awaken  hoi>es  in  us.  Our  mind  is  unaffected  by 
so  feeble  an  impression  of  disagreeable  iiossibilitics,  while 
it  is  susceptible  to  the  impression  of  agrcMjable  ideas,  no 
stronger  in  intensity.  Why?  Because,  from  its  very 
nature,  it  has  a  tendency  to  optimism  and  not  to  i)es- 

aimism. 

We  notice  this  in  the  greatest  as  well  as  in  the  small- 
est matters.    Who  among  us  would  ever  select  a  profession 
if  we  were  not  obstinate  optimists?     In  every  nireor,  those 
who  reach  the  liTiiit  ranks  arc  tlie  rare  exception.     Out  of 
fifty  cadets,  only  one  Incomes  a  giiuend ;  among  a  hun- 
dred physicians,  only  one  becomes  a  professor ;  the  rest 
remain  in  inglorious  obscurity,  frequently  in  poverty,  and 
are  obliged  to  contend  with  all  the  disagreeables  of  their 
profession  as  long  as  they  live,  without  ever  becoming 
acquainted  with  a  single  one  of  its  agreeable  anil  rcmiuier- 
ative  features.     Yet  when  we  come  to  choose  a  profession 
in  life,  we  see  only  tlie  successful  one  in  tlie  fifty  or  the 
hundred,  and  not  the  forty-uiuc  or  ninety-nine ;  and  we  are 
irmly  convinced  that  we  sliall  be  this  single  one,  although 
from  the  standpoint  of  every  sober  reasoner  this  seems  ex- 
tremely improbable.    Tlie  case  is  precisely  the  same  in 
regard  to  all  our  enterprises.     Fsiiluro  is,  as  a  rule,  (piite 
as  probable  as  success,  and  ijerliaps  moi-e  so.     Yet  we  do 
not  hesitate  to  undertake  the  enterprise,  and  of  course  this 
is  only  liecause  we  have  faith  in  its  success.    That  which 
occasions  the  decision,  which  outweighs  the  figures  of  the 
calculation  of    pixibabilities,   which    draws   the  curtains 


1 


\ 


OPTIMISM  FOR  SELF,  PESSIMISM  FOR  OTHERS. 


29 


across  the  window  that  overlooks  the  probable  unfavorable 
result,  and  hangs  on  the  wall  the  picture  of  the  far  less 
probable  favorable  issue,— this  is  optimism. 

Let  it  be  well  uuderstood  that  this  is  true  only  of  our- 
selves and  our  own  affairs.  When,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
are  giving  another  person  advice  in  regard  to  his  selec- 
tion of  a  vocation,  when  we  are  judging  of  the  prospects 
of  another's  enterprise,  we  can  see  the  obstacles  and  the 
probabilities  of  failure  very  clearly,  and  are  almost  inva- 
riably inclined  to  pessimistic  predictions.  Why?  Because 
then  the  purely  subjective  element  of  optimism  does  not 
delude  our  calm  calculations  and  influence  our  judgment. 
We  see  the  difficulties,  it  is  true,  but  we  do  not  see  the 
energy  which  has  resolved,  and  therefore  hopes  to  over- 
come them.  This  energy  is  known  only  to  its  owner,  and 
he  therefore  applies  himself  to  any  undertaking,  and  calcu- 
lates its  results  quite  differently  from  tlie  spectator,  who 
has  only  a  profile  view  of  the  affair,  and  docs  not  realize 
what  an  extensive  front  of  attack  is  formed  by  our  assur- 
ance and  the  consciousness  of  our  own  vital  cnerg3^ 

It  is  quite  amusing  to  note  that  even  the  most  inveterate 
skeptics  have  this  subjective  optimism,  and  1  jetray  it,  often 
unconsciously,  on  every  occasion.  People  who  consider 
themselves  irreclaimable  pessimists,  still  feel  a  reverence 
for  age,  and  a  tenderness  for  childhood.  Gray  hairs  impress 
them  with  the  idea  of  wisdom  and  experience,  and  the  in- 
fant, of  promising  development.  And  yet  for  the  time 
being,  the  child  is  nothing  but  an  unreasoning  little  ani- 
mal that  dirties  itself  and  screams,  an  annoyance  to  every 
one  around,  while  to  the  eyes  of  an  unprejudiced  observer, 
the  old  man  is,  physically,  an  unattractive  image  of  decay, 
in  disposition,  a  blind,  inexorable  selfishness  without  even 
the  ability  to  be  interested  in  anything  but  itself  any 
longer,  and,   intellectually,  an  enfeebled,  limited  intelli- 


30 


OPTIMISM   AND   PESSIMISM. 


gence,  illecl  mainly  with  fallacies  and  prejudices,  and 
closed  to  all  new  ideas,  Wliy,  nevertheless,  do  we  regard 
age  with  reverence  and  affection,  and  childhood  with  ten- 
derness? Because  it  pleases  us  to  be  able  to  create  illu- 
sions for  ourselves,  and  because  l)oth  the  end  and  the 
beginning  of  life,  like  the  first  or  last  chapter  of  a  book, 
afford  ns  the  opportunity  of  composing  the  missing  novel, 
as  charmingly  and  as  edifyingly  as  we  choose,  from  our 
OWE  materials.  We  give  to  the  old  man  the  past,  to  the 
child,  tlie  future  of  an  ideal  being,  although  the  chances 
are  a  hundred  to  one  that  the  venerable  sage  was  a  common- 
place simpleton  in  his  youth  and  manhood,  an  average 
individual  deserving  of  no  respect  as  regards  his  prefer- 
ences and  his  failings ;  and  that  the  child  which  is  arousing 
such  tender  emotions,  will  turn  out  an  unmitigated  sneak 
in  character,  a  grasping  shoi^-keeper  by  trade,  that  he  will 
lie,  crawl,  and  slander  his  neighbors  like  nine-tenths  of  the 
people  who  swarm  about  us,  and  who  inspire  us  with 
neither  reverence  nor  affection.  We  only  take  cognizance 
of  disagreeable  facts  when  we  actually  run  our  nose  against 
them,  and  not  always  even  then.  But  where  we  are  at 
liberty — as  in  the  case  of  the  old  man  or  the  child — in  the 
absence  of  certain  knowledge  concerning  the  past  or  the 
future,  to  imagine  it  either  beautiful  or  the  reverse,  we  do 
not  hesitate  a  moment,  but  improvise  out  of  the  old  man 
or  the  child  the  dazzling  apparition  of  a  demigod,  which  is 
in  reality  nothing  but  the  exaggerated  illustration  of  our 
innate  and  heiirt-felt  optimism. 

Legends  and  fairy-tales,  which  embody  in  plastic  form 
the  ideas  and  opinions  of  the  masses,  bear  a  hundred-fold 
testimony  to  the  irrepressible  elementary  optimism  of  the 
common  people.  1  have  shown  above  how  unconcernedly 
each  individual  becomes  reconciled  to  the  awful  idea  of 
death.     Men  go  still  further — they  make  a  virtue  of  neces- 


1 


man's  cheerful  resignation  to  the  inevitable.   31 

sity,  and  invent  some  story  which  expresses  the  idea  that 
death  is  a  benefit,  and  that  eternal  life  would  be  a  dreadful 
misfortune.  For  this  is  evidently  the  moral  to  the  legend 
of  the  Wandering  Jew,  who  longs  for  death  as  a  deliver- 
ance in  his  despair,  yet  cannot  find  it.  Do  not  the  inventors 
of  these  legends  resemble  tlie  fox  in  the  fiible,  who  author- 
itatively asserts  that  the  grapes  beyond  his  reach,  for  which 
he  is  longing,  are  sour?  Immortality  is  not  to  be  ob- 
tained at  any  price,  and  it  is,  therefore,  a  terrible  evil — this 
consoles  us  and  the  fiddler  can  begin  to  play  for  the  dance. 
Or  the  pretty  legend  of  the  poor  man  whose  cross  oppressed 
him  to  such  an  extent  that  he  begged  for  another  in  its 
place  !  His  guardian  angel  led  him  to  a  spot  where  there 
were  quantities  of  crosses  lying  around,  large  and  small, 
heavy  and  light,  with  sharp  and  rounded  comers.  He 
tried  them  all  in  succession;  none  suited  him  in  every 
respect.  Finally  he  found  one  that  pleased  him  bet 
ter  than  any  of  the  rest,  and,  behold !  it  was  his  own 
which  he  had  wished  to  exchange  for  another.  Then  there 
is  the  comical  story  of  the  three  wishes,  according  to, 
which  a  poverty-stricken  old  couple,  to  whom  some  fairy 
had  promised  the  fulfillment  of  any  three  wishes,  had  not 
sense  enough  to  realize  anything  more  than  a  sausage  from 
this  wonderful  stroke  of  fortune.  Under  various  foi-ms  and 
conditions  these  tales  are  repetitions  of  the  sentiment  that 
every  one  is  charmingly  situated  as  regards  his  surround- 
ings, and  that  it  would  be  wrong  to  wish  for  anything  dif- 
ferent from  what  he  has;  and  that  the  hunchback  is  as 
fond  and  proud  of  his  defonmity  as  the  guardsman  of  his 
imposing  stature. 

The  truth  is  that  optimism,  an  infinite,  ineradicable 
optimism,  is  the  base  upon  which  all  man's  conceptions  are 
founded,  the  instinctive  feeling  which  is  natural  to  him 
under  all  circumstances.     What  we  tei-m  optimism  is  sim- 


OPTIMISM   Am  PESSIMISM. 


ply  the  fonn  in  which  our  own  life-force,  or  vital  energy, 
and  the  processes  of  life  in  our  organism  are  presented  to 
our  consciousness.  Optimism  is,  therefore,  only  another 
term  for  vitality,  an  intensification  of  the  fact  of  existence. 
We  feel  the  operation  of  life  in  every  cell  of  our  being — a 
frnitful  activity  which  promotes  continued  movement,  and 
warns  us  continually  of  it  We  accordingly  believe  in  a 
future  because  we  are  conscious  of  it  in  our  inmost  being. 
We  hope,  because  we  are  convinced  that  we  shall  continue 
to  exist.  Not  until  this  consciousness  vanishes  with  the 
life-force  or  vital  enei-gy  itself,  does  hope  also  grow  dim 
and  disappear,  and  the  bright  portals  of  the  future  close ; 
but  then  the  eye  is  foiling  also,  and  it  is  not  able  to  per- 
ceive the  disagreeable  cliange.  The  ability  of  our  organ- 
ism to  adapt  itself  to  circumstances,  without  which  ability 
it  couM  not  even  exist,  and  its  indwelling  scheme  of 
growth,  which  impels  it  to  follow  a  predetermined  course 
of  development,  these  are  the  living  foundations  of  opti- 
mism, which  we  have  learned  to  recognize  in  our  conform- 
ing to  settled  conditions  as  well  as  in  our  looking  forward 
with  hope  to  the  future.  Valiant  striving  toward  the  goal 
of  our  development,  the  triumphant  maintenance  of  our 
Individ ualit}'  in  the  presence  of  hostile  influences,  move- 
ment, progress,  hope,  life, — these  are  all  only  synonyms 
for  optimism.  The  old  Roman  who  coined  the  saying: 
"dnmspiro,  siMJro,"  "as  long  as  I  breathe,  I  hope,'  suc- 
cinctly expressed  in  it  the  philosophy  of  life,  and  gave  to 
one  of  the  fundamental  truths  of  biology  the  form  of  a 
classical  proverb. 


1 1 


MAJORITY    AND    MINORITY. 


The  Pliilistine  is  the  l)Ug])ear  of  every  superior  mind. 
Every  one  who  can  detect  the  slightest  trace  of  genius  in 
himself,  though  barely  enough  to  justify  him  in  wearing 
his  hair  long  and  condemning  the  popular  prejudice  in 
favor  of  the  stiff  hat — is  bound  to  exercise  the  muscles  of 
his  arm  pounding  away  on  the  head  of  the  Philistine — of 
course  only  figuratively,  for,  as  a  rule,  the  Philistine  has  a 
man  servant,  if  he  is  not  one  himself  This  hostility  is 
sheer  ingratitude.  The  Pliilistine  is  useful  and  has  even 
that  relati\'e  beauty  which  belongs  to  all  things  perfectly 
adapted  to  the  end  in  view.  He  is  the  perspective  back- 
ground in  the  painting  of  civilization,  without  whose  artis- 
tic smallness  of  dimensions  the  full  length  figures  in  the 
foreground  would  not  give  the  impression  of  size.  This  is 
his  aesthetic  role,  but  this  is  ftir  from  being  the  most  im- 
portant one  he  is  commissioned  to  play.  When  we  admire 
the  Pyramids— I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  why  the  Pyra- 
mids have  come  into  my  mind  again— perhaps  it  is  owing 
to  the  fact  that  from  their  shape  they  seem  to  be  especially 
adapted  for  the  fixed  points  in  mental  calculations— do  we 
not  say  to  ourselves  that  we  owe  them  to  the  cruelly  mis- 
represented Philistine?  It  was  probably  some  talented 
civil  engineer  of  ancient  Egypt  who  first  designed  them,  it 
is  true,  but  they  were  built  by  the  Children  of  Israel,  not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  these  latter  must  have  been 
very  common  creatures,  if  we  can  judge  of  their  character 


MAJORITY  AND  MINOEITY. 


as  a  whole  tcom  their  acknowledged  taste  for  onions  and 
iesh-pots.  Of  what  tencfit  to  us  are  all  the  conceptions 
of  the  man  of  genius?  The}^  live  only  in  his  brain  and 
for  himself  alone— they  do  not  exist  for  us,  until  the  unin- 
teresting Philistine  in  his  cotton  nightcap  has  come  along, 
and  made  them  a  reality— this  kind  Philistine,  who  does 
not  distract  his  docile  attention  by  any  inventive  activity 
of  his  own,  but  waits  in  an  inviting  state  of  intellectual 
blankness  for  the  impulse,  tlie  ideas  and  the  ordera  of 
those  abler  than  himself. 

Those  who  can  compose  consider  themselves  as  a  rule, 
mbove  translating,  and  rightly  too.  It  is  the  task  of  the 
inspired  few  to  think  and  will ;  it  is  the  task  of  the  medi- 
ocre multitude  to  transform  the  thought  and  the  will  into 
concrete  reality. 

Of  what  else  do  we  accuse  the  Pliilistine?  That  he 
does  not  yield  readily  to  the  impulse  of  genius.  This  is 
very  desirable ;  he  ought  to  be  esijecially  blessed  on  this 
very  account  His  weight,  his  firm  equilibrium,  which  is 
not  easily  shaken,  make  him  a  kind  of  g^Tunastic  appara- 
tus upon  which  the  superior  nature  has  to  test  and  also  to 
develope  its  strength.  To  he  sure,  it  is  difficult  to  set  the 
Philistine  in  motion,  but  it  is  good  exercise  for  genius  to 
exert  itself  thus  until  it  succeeds.  If  a  new  idea  is  not 
able  to  master  the  Pliilistine,  this  evidently  proves  that  it 
is  not  strong  enough,  or  that  it  is  of  no  value,  or  of  no 
value  as  yet  But,  on  the  contrary,  when  a  new  concep- 
tion operates  upon  the  Philistine,  it  has  already  passed  the 
first  and  the  most  im|»i1ant  test  of  its  worth.  With  his 
intellect  he  is  of  course  incapable  of  criticising  and  passing 
judgment  uiK)n  the  ideas  of  the  inspired  few,  but  on 
account  of  his  conservatism  he  is  a  contrivance  which 
unconsciously,  and  therefore  all  the  more  infallibly,  sepa- 


THE   PHILISTINE   AT   HOME. 


35 


rates  the  fully  developed  and  live  ideas  from  the  immature 
and  worthless.    We  could  easily  understand  it  if  the  Philis- 
tines complained  of  or  ridiculed  each  other,  if  one  Philistine 
cast  this  nickname  with  contempt  at  the  head  of  another,  as 
a  black  man  calls  another  a  nigger  when  he  is  angry.     One 
Philistine  can  not  get  on  at  all  with  another,  in  fact     He 
has  neither  impulse  nor  entertainment  to  expect  from  him. 
Each  one  sees  in  the  dull  face  of  the  other  the  miiTor  of 
his  own  limitations.     Each  one  yawns  at  the  tiresome  reci- 
tative of  the  other.     When  two  of  them  are  together  they 
are  mutually  shocked  at  the  frightful  emptiness  of  their 
minds,  and  they  have  that  depressing  and  humiliating  con- 
sciousness of  helplessness  experienced  by  the  man  accus- 
tomed to  be  led,  when  his  leader  fails  him.     But  men  of 
ability  ought  to  glorify  the  Philistine.    He  is  their  fortune, 
the  soil  that  yields  them  nourishment     To  be  sure  it  is 
hard  to  work,  but  think  how  fertile  it  is  !     They  must  toil 
hard  to  make  it  productive,  they  must  plough  from  early 
till  late,  they  must  subsoil  plough  it,  dig,  break,  turn,  har- 
row, rake,  hoe,  cut ;  they  must  perspire  and  freeze,  but  the 
harvest  will  not  fail  them  if  the  seed  had  the  requisite 
vitality.    If  imperfect  grains  or  pebbles  are  sown,  of  course 
no  successful  results  need  be  hoped  for,  any  more  than  if 
date  stones  were  to  be  entrusted  to  a  stone,  breakwater. 
And  if  the  soil  remains  unproductive  with  such  tillage,  it 
is  not  the  fault  of  the  ground  but  of  the  foolish  dreamer 
who  attempted  it     Judgment  must  assist  genius  in  indi- 
cating the  proper  time  and  the  proper  i)lace  for  the  utter- 
ance of  its  ideas.     Only  as  it  shows  tact  in  selecting  time 
and  place,  will  it  find  the  crowd  of  Philistines  always  ready 
to  respond  to  the  seed  with  the  harvest     As  often  then  as 
men  of  genius  are  assembled  around  the  festive  board, 
their  first  toast,  in  all  justice  and  propriety,  should  be 
the  Philistine. 


36 


MAJORITY  ANB  MINORITY. 


What  is,  after  all,  the  great  cause  of  complaint  against 
the  Philistine?  That  we  are  not  obliged  to  seek  in  orcler 
to  find  him ;  that  he  exists  in  enormous  numbers ;  that  he 
is  the  rule  and  not  the  exception.     If  we  were  to  consider 

him  for  once  alone,  withont  regard  to  the  proportions  of 
the  numbers  in  which  he  is  distributed^  we  would  have  to 
acknowledge,  if  we  were  just,  that  he  is  quitu  a  nice  fellow 
after  all.  He  is  usual  1\'  lietler  lociking  than  e\'cii  any  of 
the  lieat  looking  monkeys,  altliough  lie  is  not  so  handsome 
as  the  A|>ollo  Belvedere,  which  would  Ik;  common-looking 
also,  if  it  represented  the  average  tvpe  of  human itj-.  He 
is  far  mom  acti\-e  th:ui  even  a  trained  poodle,  although  he 
does  not  equal  a  circus  acrolwt,  whom  we  would  likewise 
consider  clumsy,  if  every  liirnier's  lad  could  stand  on  his 
head  and  turn  sfinicrsaults  in  tlie  air,  instead  of  shambling 
along  on  his  two  legs  as  Im  docs  now,  or  rould  pin  flies  to 
the  walls  witli  his  rnpiiT,  as  lie  now  builds  haymows  witii 
his  pitchfork.  It  IVcqiiently  happens  that  he  has  (piite  a 
good  deal  more  sense  than  tui  oj'ster,  or  e\-en  tluin  the  intel- 
ligi*n,t  elepliant,  even  if  lie  docs  not  think  so  profoundly  or 
so  clearly  as  Darwin,  whose  genius  h,owi'\-er  may  l)e  rated 
b3'the  philosophers  of  the  future  no  higlier  than  we  esteem 
the  physiological  theories  of  Parmenides  or  Aristotle. 
When  we  say  l*hilistine  we  meini  simply  tlie  niMJ<jrity,  and 
if  we  despise  tlie  majorit}*,,  we  are  relielling  against  the 
fundamental  iirinciple — in  theory — of  all  our  political  and 
social  institutions. 

It  is  true  there  are  man}'  people  who  are  not  at  all 
flhoeked  at  tiiis  i<lea,  but;,  on  the  contrary,  :iflect  or  are 
sincere  in  feeling  a  preferenee  for  it.  1  hate  tlie  common 
herd,  and  keep  it  at  a,  distance,  tlu.;\-  sa\-  with  Horace. 
They  give  it  expressly  to  be  underetootl  that  the\'  belong 
to  the  minority,  and  pride  themselves  upon  this.  They 
assert  that  they  feel  dilierently,  t'link  and  judge  difierently 


THE  INCONSISTENCY  OF  THE   MINORITY. 


37 


I 


from  the  common  herd— or  rather,  to  express  it  in  a  less 
contemptuous  manner,  the  majority.     Nothing  would  seem 
more  of  an  insult  to  them  than  for  any  one  to  call  them 
"common,"  which  after  all  would  be  only  saying  that  they 
resembled  the  majority.     We  shall  soon  turn  our  attention 
to  the  problem  of  the  cause  of  this  disdain  of  the  major- 
ity, and  whether  it  is  justifiable  or  not;  but  first  we  will 
see  whether  these  superior  beings  who   protest  against 
being  included  in  the  crowd,  think  and  act  consistently. 
If  they  were  logical  they  would  have  to  make  the  points 
in  which  they  differ  fnnn  the  common   herd  especially 
prominent,  and  try  to  prevent  any  one's  confounding  them 
with  the  majority,  by  manifesting  their  peculiarities ;  they 
would  have  to  appear  in  different  styles  of  clothing  and 
adopt  different  manners  and  customs,  and  different  concep- 
tions of  morality,  and  invariably  refuse  to  accept  the  decis- 
ions of  the  majority.     Do  they  do  this?     No  ;  in  fact  they 
do  the  exact  opposite  of  all  this.     They  consider  it  better 
taste  not  to  attract  attention,  that  is,  not  to  be  distinguisiicd 
from  the  despised  multitude.     They  bow  to  public  opinion, 
and  grieve  when  they  know  that  it  is  against  them.     They 
are  the  strongest  upholders  of  the  law,  which  is  after  all 
nothing  but  an  epitome  of  the  ideas  of  the  people,  that  is,  of 
the  majority,  in  the  form  of  laws.    They  defend  parliament- 
arism which  is  founded  npon  the  recognition  of  the  riglit  of 
the  majority  to  enlbree  its  will  upon  the  minority.    In  many 
cases  they  are  even  enthusiastically  in  fiivor  of  uni\'crsal 
suffrage,  which  is  in  reality  the  apotheosis  of  all  that  is 
common  and  ordinary.     I  do  not  overlook  the  fact  that  we 
often  float  with  the  tide— not  that  we  really  wish  to  go  in 
the  direction  it  is  carrying  us,  but  because  we  are  not 
strong  enough  to  struggle  against  it.     Tlie  author  of  the 
proverl),  "  When  you  arc  with  the  wolves  you  must  howl 
as  they  do,"  did  not  mean  to  express  by  it  any  especial 


MAJORITY   AND  MINORITY. 


respect  for  tlie  wolves,  but  merely  a  cruel  necessity.  But 
another  proverb  declares  that  the  voice  of  the  people  is 
the  voice  of  God,  and  plants  the  Philistine  on  Olympus. 
And  it  is  an  unquestionable  fact  that  the  most  important 
acts  and  decisions,  even  of  those  who  scorn  the  masses  the 
most,  are  always  based  upon  the  tacit  assumption  that  the 
opinions  of  the  crowd  are  correct  and  worthy  of  respect  in 
their  main  features. 

It  is  true  that  a  few  individuals,  so  few  that  they  can 
be  counted  on  the  fingers  of  one  hand,  have  had  the  cour- 
age to  be  consistent    Treitschke  endorses  an  enlightened 
despotism,  that  summary  system  of  government  which 
pays  no  attention  to  the  majority  and  claims  the  right  for 
the  minority— reduced  to  unity— to  think  and  decide  for 
the  whole  nation.     Carlyle  preaches  the  worship  of  heroes, 
and  insists  upon  the  unconditional  subjection  of  the  masses 
to  the  rule  of  the  single  and  powerful  individual.     Mon- 
tesquieu wittily  asserts  that  the  trial  by  jury  is  only  proper 
under  one  condition :  viz,  that  the  ideas  of  the  minority, 
not  of  the  majority,  be  accepted  as  the  decision,  as  among 
the  twelve  sworn  in  there  must  necessarily  be  more  block- 
heads than  men  of  sense,  and  consequently  the  decision  of 
the  minority  will  be  the  decision  of  the  sensible  men  and 
the  decision  of  the  majority  that  of  the  blockheads.     This 
is  rather  a  severe  way  of  expressing  the  idea  that  intelli- 
gence is  only  the  attribute  of  the  few  while  the  masses  are 
foolish  and  contracted  in  their  ideas.     Montesquieu  over- 
looks the  fact,  however,  that  the  minority,  as  it  includes  all 
who  vary  from  the  average  size,  contains  not  only  those 
who  rise  above  the  average  height,  but  those  who  fall  below 
it  as  well— consequently,  along  with  the  geniuses,  the  im- 
beciles, along  with  the  healthy  individualities,  the  diseased 
and  abnormal  forms.    The  members  of  the  Academy  are 
an  insignificant  minority  in  the  nation,  but  so  are  the  in- 


INCONSISTENCY  OF   CARLYLE   AND  TREITSCHKE. 


39 


mates  of  the  State  Insane  Asylums,  and  Montesquieu  is  in 
danger  of  claiming  for  one  scientist  and  a  couple  of  idiots 
the  supremacy  over  nine  average  Schulzes  or  Muellers, 
which  would  be  absurd,  as  Euclid  would  say. 

I  have  a  strong  suspicion  besides,  that  Carlyle  and 
Treitschke  do  not  scorn  the  majority  after  all,  as  much  as 
they  pretend,  and  as  they  may  imagine  they  do.     An  en- 
lightened despotism  !     Hero-worship  !     Hm  !     Let  us  ex- 
amine them  closer :     Does  not  an  enlightened  despotism 
mean  that  some  ruling  genius  is  to  coerce  the  masses  into 
agreeing  with  his  views  and  intentions,  adopting  his  opin- 
ions, coinciding  with  him  in  everything,  and  thus  finally 
establishing  an  unanimity  of  convictions  between  himself 
and  them?    And  hero-v. orship,  is  not  this  the  desire  to  see 
the  hero,  that  is  the  exceptional  phenomenon,  appreciated, 
honored,  worshiped,  by  his  god-parents,  Hinz  and  Kunz? 
They  all  seem  to  me  to  have  the  masses  continually  in 
view  after  all,  which  does  not  at  all  agree  with  their  pre- 
tended contempt  for  them.    Why  should  the  scorner  of  the 
Philistine  care  for  his  opinions?    What  good  will  the  Phil- 
istine's appreciation  and  admiration  do  him?     The  logical 
consequences  of  Treitschke's  views  would  be  that  a  Fred- 
erick the  Great,  a  Joseph  II,  would  have  to  resign  and 
hand  over  his  crown  to  some  honest  mediocrity  in  the 
family,  for  he  is  above  yielding  to  the  rabble ;  he  can  not 
have  any  rational  interest  in  converting  blockheads  to  his 
exalted  views,  and  he  docs  not  care  to  cast  his  pearls 
before  swine.     From  Carlyle's  point  of  view  it  would  be  a 
degradation  for  a  Michael  Angelo  to  exhibit  his  Moses  to 
the  loungers  on  the  street,  or  a  Goethe  to  have  his  Faust 
printed  for  the  use  of  the  young  ladies'  seminaries— the 
applause  of  the  common  herd,  instead  of  being  desired  by 
them,  ought  to  give  them  cause  for  tiliirm,  like  that  really 
consistent  orator  who  exclaimed ;  "  They  are  applauding— 


MAJORITY  ANB  MIMORITY. 


have  I  said  any  thing  silly?  "  Let  a  Frederick  the  Great, 
shot  himself  up  in  his  palace  grounds,  then,  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  tlie  people,  let  a  Goethe  retire  to  a 
desert  isle  and  recite  his  verses  for  Ms  own  ears  alone,  and 

hurrah  for  Logic ! 

Wc  have  here  a  contradiction  that  cannot  be  denied. 
On  the  one  hand  we  assert  that  we  despise  the  masses,  on 
the  other  hand  all  that  we  do  is  done  with  them  in  view. 
We  refuse  to  believe  tlie  masses  capable  of  passing  judg- 
ment upon  the  productions  of  genius,  and  yet  the  fair- 
est dream  of  genius  is  fame  and  immortality,  that  is, 
appreciation  by  the  masses.  We  deny  that  the  masses 
have  intelligence,  and  yet  representative  legislation,  trial 
by  jury,  and  public  opinion,  all  institutions  regaixled  with 
the  utmost  respect,  are  founded  upon  the  assumption  that 
the  majority  is  not  only  supreme  in  its  wisdom,  but  even 
perfectly  infallible.  We  look  upon  being  classed  with  the 
masses  as  a  degradation,  and  yet  on  all  momentous  occa- 
sions we  are  proud  to  feel  and  think  with  the  crowd.  At 
a  moment  of  sublime  exaltation  tlie  Roman  of  old  could 
think  of  nothing  nobler  to  say  than:  "I  am  a  human 
being;  nought  that  is  human  can  I  consider  foreign  to 
me.'*  He  would  have  been  much  astonished  iKJrhaps  if 
some  cynical  contemporaneous  critic  had  said  in  reply : 
**  You  say  you  are  a  human  being  like  other  human  be- 
ing—are you  thus  congratulating  yourself  upon  being 

common?  " 

Now  then :  I  belive  it  is  in  my  power  to  explain  this 
inconsistency.  It  seems  to  me  beyond  all  question  that  it 
is  due  to  a  biological  cause.  The  unknown  power  that 
evolves  living  creatures  out  of  matter,  does  not  produce 
races  but  individuals,  at  first  1  will  not  discuss  here  the 
different  theories  in  regard  to  the  beginning  of  life,  and 
wil  also  waive  the  question  as  to  whether,  as  is  currently 


EVOLUTION  OF  LIVING  BEINGS. 


41 


accepted,  living  protoplasm  was  evolved  from  the  inani- 
mate matter  at  a  given  period,  or  whether,  as  Preyer  be- 
lieves, life  has  been  one  of  the  attributes  of  matter  from 
all  eternity,  like  motion  and  attraction.     Suffice  it  to  say, 
that  the  formation  of  a  living  being  evolved  from  matter 
today,  has  its  impulse  in  other  living  beings  that  have  pre- 
ceded it  and  from  which  it  is  descended.     Life,  in  its  final 
analysis,  is  the  formation  and  decomposition  of  certain 
albuminous  compounds  of  nitrogen,  in  combination  with 
oxygen.   This  process  can  take  place  under  the  most  varied 
forms,  and  whenever  nature  undertakes  the  task  of  con- 
structing a  living  being,  (I  express  myself  thus  unscien- 
tifically, anthropomorphically,  merely  for  the  sake  of  con- 
venience), it  has  the  choice  of  giving  it  any  one  of  the 
billion  or  trillion  conceival)le  and  possible  forms.     If  thus 
nature  should  form  the  living  beings  anew  out  of  primeval 
matter  each  one  would  pro])ably  turn  out  entirely  difibrent 
from  the  rest,  and  there  would  be  only  that  faint  resem- 
blance between  them  due  to  the  circumstance  that  they 
would  all  be  in  the  end  the  expression,  the  embodiment  of 
one  identical  chemical  law,  the  organ  of  one  and  the  same 
function.     But  living  beings  are  no  longer  created  out  of 
primeval  matter,  by  some  spontaneous  action  of  nature, 
at  least  as  far  as  our  knowledge  extends,— tliey  are  created 
from  it  by  the  intervening  medium  of  a  parental  organism. 
The  matter  of  which  the  new  being  is  formed  has  passed 
through  an  existing  mechanism ;  it  has  been  controlled  by 
the  latter;  it  has  thus  received  impressions  from  it.     It  is, 
however,  one  of  the  still  unexplained  and  yet  hardly  to  be 
questioned  properties  of  matter,  or,  to  be  more  exact,  of 
the  combinations  of  matter,  to  retain   the  impressions, 
groupings  and  shapes  it  has  received.     This  is  the  founda- 
tion of  memory  in  the  individual,  of  inheritance  in  the 
race.     The  new  being,  the  elements  of  whose  substance 


42 


Ml  TAW  I W    A  MB    IfTMOmiTr 
.All  \f  lu  A.  A.    ill  A  u    41 1  m  xfMM*.  J.  I  • 


have  been  maEipulated  bj'  another  being,  will  thus  retain 
the  impressions  left  upon  them  by  the  latter;  it  will  be- 
come similar  to  it.  Consequently,  two  separate  laws  are 
working  in  it :  first  the  primal  law  of  life,  which  tries  to 
produce  an  organism  separate  and  distinct  from  all  others, 
that  has  onl^^  to  perform  well  its  task  of  forming  and  de- 
composing the  albuminous  combinations  of  nitrogen,  and 
can  do  this  in  any  one  of  the  innumerably  iK>ssible  fonns, 
while  it  need  not  necessarily  resemble  any  other  given  form, 
and  secondly,  the  law  of  heredity,  which  tries  to  make  the 
new  organism  resemble  the  parents  from  whom  it  was 
evolved. 

Each  individual  is  therefore  the  result  of  the  operation 
of  these  two  forces— the  primal  law  of  life,  and  the  law  of 
heredity.  The  former  seeks  to  create  new  forms  adapted 
to  the  process  of  life,  and  the  latter  to  repeat  a  design 
already  existing — that  of  the  parents.  I  can  not  suffic- 
iently emphasize  the  fact  that,  in  my  opinion,  the  infinite 
freedom  of  choice  among  all  the  fonns  jwssible,  came  first, 
and  was  followed  by  the  similarity  to  the  parental  form, 
restricting  this  choice.  Not  until  this  is  accepted,  does  the 
Darwinian  theory  become  clear  and  plain,  which  without  it 
is  not  a  revelation,  but  merely  a  record  of  facts  observed. 

In  short,  if,  as  Darwin  and  with  him  the  whole  tribe 
of  his  disciples  and  commentatoi's  believe,  heredity  be  the 
earliest  and  more  potent  law  deciding  the  development  of 
the  individual,  how  would  any  deviation  from  or  improve- 
ment upon  it  be  conceivable?  The  offspring  would  have 
to  retain  its  resemblance  to  the  parent  under  all  circum- 
stances, and  if  its  surroundings  made  this  impossible  for 
it,  it  would  simpl}'  have  to  perish.  The  grand  phenome- 
non of  adaptability  to  given  conditions  of  life,  which, 
accortling  to  Darwin,  is  one  of  the  principal  causes  of  the 
origin  of  species,  would  be  a  problem  still  unexplained. 


PRIMAL   LAW  OP  LIFE   AND   HEREDITY. 


43 


My  hypothesis,  on  the  contrary,  offers  the  solution  to  this 
problem.  The  living  being,  I  say,  is  confined  no  more  to 
one  form  than  to  another ;  it  only  requires  a  form  that  will 
make  the  absorption  of  oxygen  and  the  formation  of  pro- 
tein possible  to  it.  It  is  this  very  primal,  unconditional 
freedom  which  allows  it  to  assume  any  form  that  may  be 
impressed  upon  it  by  its  surroundings,  as  a  floating  body 
at  rest  will  move  in  that  one  of  all  the  directions  possible 
to  it,  in  which  it  is  impelled  by  the  slightest  impulse  from 
without.  Does  the  parental  organism  give  it  its  own  form? 
Very  well,  then  the  young  organism  will  assume  the 
parental  form.  Do  the  external  conditions  in  which  it  has 
to  live  try  to  alter  this  form,  to  abolish  this  resemblance 
to  his  parents?  Very  well,  then  it  will  relinquish  the  in- 
herited form,  and,  yielding  to  the  later  impulse,  assume 
that  which  the  external  conditions  of  life  are  trying  to 
force  upon  it.  In  this  way  we  can  explain  adaptability 
which,  according  to  this  theory,  is  no  longer  a  contradic- 
tion but  an  analogy  of  heredity. 

Biology,  the  science  of  life,  recognizes  the  individual 
alone,  not  the  species.  The  individual  alone  is  something 
actually  existent,  independent,  clearly  defined ;  the  race  is 
much  more  indistinct,  it  is  often  impossible  to  define  it 
with  certainty.  Two  individuals  can  never  be  confounded 
with  each  other,  nor  merged  into  one,  never  under  any  cir- 
cumstances. This  can  not  be  said  of  species ;  on  the  con- 
trary, they  are  changing  constantly,  although  slowly ;  their 
limits  vary  and  become  confused  almost  beyond  recogni- 
tion, they  develop  into  new  forms  and  are  something  en- 
tirely different  in  one  geological  period  from  what  they 
were  in  a  former,  and  probably  also  from  what  they  will  be 
in  a  future  period.  That  which  binds  the  individual  to  the 
race,  notwithstanding  this,  is  the  law  of  heredity,  that  is, 
the  primal  attribute  of  matter  to  remain  in  the  form  which 


MAJORIfY  ANB'  MINORITI^. 


it  has  onc€  received,  and  not  to  change  from  it  except 
nncler  the  compulsion  of  a  new  impulse,  more  powerful 
than  its  tendenc}^  to  conservatism. 

The  present  economy  of  nature  seems  to  recognize 
onlv  the  evolntion  of  life  from  life.  In  theorj-  it  would  be 
possible  to  conceive  of  life  as  teing  evolved  anew  again 
and  again  from  inanimate  matter.  That  this  does  not 
happen  is  probably  owing  to  the  fact  that  life  can  be 
evolved  through  the  intervention  of  parentol  organisms 
with  less  expenditure  of  force  than  would  V)c  necessary  in 
the  combination  of  primeval  matter,  and  that  it  is  a  well 
known  trait,  characteristic  of  all  nature*s  processes,  that  it 
seeks  to  attain  all  its  aims  with  the  greatest  possible  econ- 
omy of  means  to  ends,  the  least  possible  expenditure  of 
force.  We  have  thus  the  logical  sequence  of  the  phenom- 
ena of  life:  the  real  scene  in  which  they  appear— the 
form—is  the  individual,  not  the  race.  That  individuals 
do  resemble  each  other,  and  that  the  race  has  a  semblance 
of  permanence,  are  the  results  of  two  causes :  first,  that  at 
present,  as  fur  as  our  knowledge  extends,  life  proceeds 
from  other  life  alone,  and  secondly,  the  operation  of  the 
law  of  heredity  explained  above. 

Descent  from  a  parental  organism  produces  similar- 
ities and  a  certain  attraction  between  individuals;  the 
primal  law  of  life  produces  differences  and  independence. 
In  fact,  no  two  individuals  exist  exactly  like  each  other  in 
every  particular,  and  probably  there  is  incomparably  more 
difference  between  the  internal  and  most  secret  chemical 
formations  and  mechanism  of  the  elementory  component 
parts  of  each  separate  individual,  than  between  races. 
This  explains  also  the  possibility  of  egotism,  which  would 
be  inconceivable  and  inexplicable,  if  we  had  to  consider  the 
race  as  something  actually  existent  and  not  merely  an  ab- 
stract conception  of  the  hmman  mind    The  individual 


INHERITED   AND  ORIGINAL   PROCESSES. 


45 


feels  iit  first  that  he  is  the  only  thing  existing  and  the  only 
iietual  reality,  and  not  until  he  has  received  a  higher  train- 
ing does  he  beeonie  aware  of  the  tact  that  certain  neces- 
sary relations  exist  l)et\veen  himself  and  the  beings  like 
hiinself,  and  that  by  a  certain  regard  for  them,  he  pro- 
motes his  own  interests.  Tlie  sense  of  fellowship  is  thus 
not  an  original  impulse  like  the  sense  of  individuality  or 
egotism,  but  is  the  ae(iuired  knowledge  that  altruism  is  not 
contrary  to,  but  is  a  deepening  and  a  broadening  of  ego- 
tism. In  this  way  man  attains  to  the  ideal  institution  of 
"solidarity,"  as  he  has  attained  to  tlie  material  institu- 
tions of  tiie  i)oliee  and  the  land  title  l)ooks:  by  a  i-ealiza- 
tion  of  their  usefulness  to  him. 

And  now   the   whole  of  this  biological  disquisition, 
which  may  have  seemed  to  the  reader  a  (le\  iaticni  from  my 
course,  fits  into  the  frame  of  the  present  argument.     The 
law  of  heredity  is  the  cause  of  all  that  is  common  or  stere- 
otyped ;  the  primal  law  of  life,  of  all  that  is  uncommon  or 
original.     The  lowest  processes,   which  are  at  the  sanic 
time  the  most  necessary,  and  therefore  the  most  tVe<iuent, 
and  which  the  father  and  ancestor  must  certainly  have 
performed  likewise,  fall  under  the  law  of  heredity  ;  the 
higher  and  highest  processes,  on  the  contrary,  which  are 
serdom  rciiuired  and  which  the  progenitors  perhaps  never 
had  to  perform,  or  at  most,  so  few  times  that  they  failed 
to  leave  an  impression  upon  the  organism  deep  enough  to 
be  transmitted  to   posterity,— they   are   performed   inde- 
pendently and  with  originality.     The  organism  will  pro- 
ceed in  the  common  way  in  a  situation  of  frequent  occur- 
rence, and  which  is  the  same  for  many  or  for  all.     But  in 
a  situation  which  presents  itself  to  it  for  the  first  time,  it 
will  be  original  if  it  can  not  escape  from  it.     The  grandest 
genius  as  well  as  the  most  insignificant  individual  eats 
with  his  mouth  and  hears  with  his  ears,  and  the  French 


411' 


MAjoajTT  Ann  .minority. 


poet  hit  the  nail  oe  the  head  when  he  said  :  "  We  are  imi- 
tating somebody  whenever  we  plant  a  cabbage."  Tliose 
processes  which  are  alike  for  all,  are  ijei-formcd  by  all 
alike.  But  a  difference  will  Ik;  seen  at  once  when  two 
men  are  placed  at  the  head  of  some  company,  like  that  of 
the  Pilgrim  Fathers  for  instance,  who  set  sail  for  America 
in  the  May  Flower,  to  found  a  new  sotial  system,  or  if  the 
task  of  conquering  an  unknown  woi'ld,  and  constructing  a 
state  from  its  very  foundations,  is  imposed  upon  them. 

An  organism  supplied  with  only  the  a\ frage  amount 
of  vital  iK>wer,  never  gets  so  far  as  to  be  ol>liged  to  under- 
take the  higher  and  highest  processes.     It  seeks  no  situa- 
tion to  which  its  progenitow  wei-e  not  accustomed.     If 
against  its  will  it  is  placed  in  a  novel  iKisition,  its  first 
efforts  are  to  escape  from  it.     If  these  are  not  successful, 
itendeavorstoact  according  to  customary  analogies,  that 
is,  to  do  in  it  as  it  has  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  in  other 
and  familiar  situations,  wliicli  ha\'e  a  resemblance  to  the 
new  situations.     If  by  these  petty  means  of  escape,  it  still 
fails  to  accommodate  itself  to  the  new  demands,  it  submits 
to  their  sway,  and  succumbs.     Thus  it  always  remains 
within  the  estabUshed  circle  of  heredity  ;  it  is  horrified  at 
the  slightest  alteration  in  the  lines  of  its  resemblance  to 
its  progenitors  and  comrades  in  mediocrity,  and  it  con- 
cludes its  life  as  it  began  it,  a  tame  copy  of  forms  that 
had  preceded  it  and  surrounded  it     But  an  organism 
whose  vital  energy  surpasses  tlie  average,  either  feels  at 
cjuce  an  impulse  to  seek  new  situations,  or  if  it  is  estab- 
lished in  them,  it  conquers  them  at  once,  or  else  accom- 
modates itself  to  them  without  payuig  any  attention  to 
given  examples,  or  being  influenced  b}-  the  customs  of  its 
progenitors.     Such  an  organism  grows  triumphantly  up  to 
and  beyond  the  limits  of  heredity— which  only  reach  to  a 
certain  height— and  in  an  altitude  never  attiiined  by  feebler 


BEGGARS    AND    MILLIONAIRES   IN   VITALITY. 


47 


individuals,  it  developes  unrestrained  into  original  forms, 
differing  from  all  the  rest. 

I  have  thus  explained  in  detail  how  individual  forms 
and  average  forms  depend  upon  the  amount  of  vital  energy 
possessed.     If  an  individual  has  only  sufficient  vital  energy 
to  make  an  organism  of  an  already  determined  type,  it  re- 
mains within  the  inherited  form,  and  assists  the  race  in 
maintaining  the  inherited  and  distinctive  features.     If,  on 
the  contrary,  the  individual  possesses  an  extra  amount  of 
vital  energy,  it  conquers  the  inertia  which  keeps  the  com- 
jjonent  matter  in  the  inherited  form,  and,  by  its  original 
and  innate  impulse,  developes  in  perfect  freedom  its  indi- 
vidual plan  of  growth  and  outward  form,  and  we  can  even 
go  so  far  as  to  assert  tliat  it  thus  becomes  the  source  of  a 
new  variety  or  sub-species  in  the  race.     Life  is  the  most 
sublime  function  of  matter.     The  possession  of  it  inspires 
instinctive  respect  in  all  living  beings,  as  pecuniary  wealth 
inspires  respect  in  coimnon  natures,  and  because  an  orig- 
inal tyi»e  is  the  result  of  a  greater  wealth  of  life,  it  is  con- 
sidered superior  to  the  average  type,  which  is  the  confession 
of  only  a  small  fund  of  vital  energy.     Hence  we  look  down 
upon  everything  that  is  common  and  ordinary,  and  strive 
to  be  original,  or  if  this  is  beyond  our  powers,  to  appear  so 
at  least.     Those  who  do  not  want  to  be  included  in  the 
common  herd  are  those  who  want  to  have  the  reputation 
of  being  millionaires  in  life-force.     Contempt  for  the  Phil- 
istine is  one  of  the  ways  in  which  we  express  our  admira- 
tion for  life.     We  pride  ourselves  far  more  upon  being  the 
founder  of  a  race  than  one  of  the  descendants,  the  original 
copy  rather  than  an  extract,  and  consider  it  far  better  to 
be  the  title  page  of  a  book,  rather  than  one  of  the  num. 
bered  pages  bound  in  it.     But  as  even  the  most  vigorous 
father  is  a  son  at  the  same  time,  and  each  founder  of  a 

u^w  Uae  has  had  progenitors  and  ancestors  as  far  back  as 


48 


MAJORITY  AND'  MINOBITY. 


the  ii.sfi<li:i  or  priiiieviil  niattcr,  even  the  immt  original  in. 
dividuiil  lielongs  to  the  Kiee  iifXer  nil.  Even  the  most 
extruonliiiary  manifestations  <if  Hfe-ftjree  are  inuhiderl  in 
the  limits  of  what  is  stereotyped  anil  ordinary,  in  so  fai-  as 
their  more  common  actions  tire  concerned.  We  ha\-e  in 
this  the  solntion  to  the  problem  of  the  c<)ntra(hc-lioM  he- 
tween  the  withdrawal  of  snperior  natinxis  from  tlie  eooi- 
iBon  hewl,  and  their  occasional  hleniling  with  it.  If  the 
Philistine  chooses  he  can  con<'ratidate  himself  npon  the 
fact  that  even  a  G( >ethe  or  a  Napoleon,  with  all  their 
originality,  did  not  weep  and  huigli,  sleep  and  shave  any 
differently  frc »m  what  lie  is  in  t!ie  lialiit  of  doing. 

Among  tliosc  living  huings  divided  into  .sexes,  the 
leinale  seems  to  have  less  life-tbrce  and  its  c<)n,comitant 
creative  impulse  than  tlie  male.  Why  this  is  so  T  can  not 
say,  Init  it  is  a  recognized  fact  that  this  is  the  relative  pro- 
[)oi1ion.  Darwin  hsis  collected  several  himdred  [lages  of 
seiKirate  ohservations  (in  his  Heseent  of  Man),  whieh  go  to 
prove  that  iu  most  nices  c»f  animals  tlie  female  maintains 
the  type  of  tlie  species,  while  tlie  male  ditfei's  fi*oni  it 
individuallv.  often  to  finite  a  considerable  extent.  The 
female  is  governed  thus  by  the  law  of  heredity,  the  mah' 
by  the  law  of  original  formal  ions,  whicli  T  claim  to  Ik;  the 
primal  law  of  life.  It  is  the  same  in  the  human  raee. 
Woman  is  as  a  ride,  typical ;  man,  individual.  The  former 
has  average,  the  latter  exceptional  features.  This  idea  is 
certainly  contrary  to  the  one  genendly  accepte<l,  lint  the 
one  gi'iierally  accepted  is  erroneous  from  beginning  to  end. 
This  is  dnc  to  the  fact  that  we  have  obtained  our  ideas  of 
woman  from  poetiy  and  fiction.  Tlie  poets,  in  their  [lor- 
Irayal  of  womankind,  have  lieen  impelled  not  by  a  s[»iritof 
honest  olisen-at ion,  lait  by  an  unconscious  8i»irit  of  gal- 
lantly. In  polite  literature  woman  is  not  a  sober  zcxilogical 
description,  Imt  the  ideal  creation  of  some  impassioned 


WOMAN   IN   POETRY. 


49 


male  imagination.  The  poet  is  not  delineating,  but  wooing. 
When  he  speaks  of  woman  he  is  not  an  impartial  observer, 
but  instinctively  a  suitor  for  her  favor.  This  utterly 
prevents  all  clear  observation,  and  it  can  be  safely 
asserted  that  in  the  poetry  of  all  peoples  and  of  all  ages, 
woman  is  portrayed,  not  as  she  really  is,  but  as  she 
appears  to  the  eyes  of  an  infatuated  idealist.  This  is  a 
natural  consequence  of  the  fact  that  poetry  was  originally 
composed  by  men  alone.  If  women  had  invented  the  lyric 
and  the  epic,  the  portrait  of  woman  in  literature  would 
most  likely  have  been  drawn  impartially,  and,  therefore, 
rather  unflatteringly.  At  the  present  day,  when  novel 
writing  has  been  relegated  almost  entirely  to  feminine 
hands,  at  least  in  several  countries,  the  fair  authoress  re- 
peats the  idealized  portrait  of  woman  drawn  by  man  and 
handed  down  to  her,  simply  because  she  is  incapable  of 
rising  above  her  precedent,  and  imagining  anything  novel 
for  lierself.  "  Woman  is  as  changeable  as  the  tide,  and  of 
infinite  variety,"  we  are  informed  by  some  contemplative 
wiseacre.  "  Who  can  boast  of  having  understood  woman  ! '" 
exclaims  some  sentimental  poet,  casting  up  his  eyes,  and 
smacking  his  lips  at  some  delightful  idea.  "  Every  woman 
is  a  mystery  and  an  enigma,  and  not  one  of  these  sphinxes 
resembles  any  other  one,"  asserts  some  novelist,  and  to 
illustrate  his  ideas,  he  spins  us  a  yarn  a  yard  long  about 
robbers,  etc.  But  these  are  all  empty  phrases,  at  which 
sensil)le  women  laugh  most  of  all,  and  which  please  none 
but  the  silly  geese  who  regard  them  as  personal  compli- 
ments. There  is  incomparably  less  variation  between 
women  than  between  men.  If  you  know  one,  you  know 
them  all,  with  but  few  exceptions.  Their  ways  of  think- 
ing, of  feeling,  and  even  their  physical  appearance  are  tyi> 
ieal,  and  Marguerite,  Juliet,  and  Ophelia  resemble  each 
other  so  closely  that  they  might  be  taken  for  sisters,  with  a 


50 


IIAJOKITY   AXri  JIINORITY. 


slight  difference  in  tlieir  dispositioiis  nm\  training.  This 
is  the  explanation  of  the  f aet  that  women  adapt  themselves 
so  readily  to  all  social  positions.  The  scent  of  the  stable 
will  cling  foreve?  to  the  groom  promoted  to  be  Duke  of 
Curland  by  the  favor  of  an  empress.  Tlie  drum-majors 
daughter  who  lias  become  a  countess  ihmugli  her  sov- 
ereignty over  some  king's  affections,  after  a  few  months, 
ittifl  sometimes  but  a  few  weeks,  can  not  be  distinguished 
in  any  respect  from  a  lady  lioni  for  the  Ahnanach  <h 
Gotittt.  There  are  no  female  parvenues.  As  soon  as  a 
woman  has  adapted  herself  to  her  new  rank  in  life— and 
this  she  does  with  marvellous  facility,  owing  to  her  talent 
for  externals  and  details— she  is  completely  at  home  in 
this  new  social  position ;  for  between  the  princess  and  the 
washerwoman  there  is  but  a  very  slight  difference  in  tad, 
the  essential  substance  of  each  being  their  womanhood, 
that  is,  the  automatic  reproiluction  of  the  general  features 
of  the  race.  Michelet  has  embodied  this  philosophy  in  re- 
gard to  women  in  a  single  sentence,  which  he  evidently 
thinks  is  veij  strikingly  expressed  :  ''Woman  is  a  person." 
This  is  one  of  the  greatest  errors  of  this  fiery  and  im- 
pressive but  sui^erficial  author.  The  reverse  is  correct: 
Woman  is  not  a  person,  but  a  species. 

It  is  true  that  there  are  some  original  women.  But 
may  I  offiT  \ on  a  bit  of  advice,  dear  Reader?  It  is  this : 
Beware  of  the  ''original "  woman  !  A  deviation  from  the 
type,  in  woman,  is  in  eiglity  cases  out  of  a  hundred,  an  in- 
dication of  disease.  The  original  woman  differs  from  the 
average  woman  just  as  a  consumptive  differe  from  a  person 
in  health.  And  in  the  remaining  twenty  cases,  which  I 
can  not  call  disease,  the  eccentricity  is  due  to  a  mistake  in 
the  sex  of  tlie  intellect  What  I  mean  by  this  ought  to  lie 
generally  underatood.  A  woman  has  the  Ixwly  of  a  woman, 
but  the  character,  tlie  ideas  and  tastes  of  a  man,  or  vice  vei-sa. 


BEWARE   OF   ORIGmAL  WOMEN  ! 


51 


The  German  popular  term  for  an  original  or  strong-minded 
woman,  a  man-woman,  is  on  the  right  track.  This  term  con- 
tains the  explanation  of  the  phenomenon.  As  soon  as  a 
woman  begins  to  deviate  from  the  uniform  type  she  loses  the 
most  important  of  all  the  psychological  evidences  of  her  sex. 
As  a  proof  of  the  truth  of  this  statement,  I  can  refer  to  the 
fact  that  strong-minded  women  are  attractive  only  to  men 
of  a  feeble  individuality,  while  men  of  clearly  defined  orig- 
inality prefer  to  be  and  are  attracted  by  the  average  type 
of  womankind.  This  occurs  so  frequently  that  it  is  super- 
fluous to  mention  in  illustration  the  names  of  Goethe, 
Heine,  Carlyle,  Byron,  Victor  Hugo,  etc.  That  is,  in  brief: 
those  men  who  do  not  already  possess  life-force  or  vital 
energy  sufficient  for  the  creation  of  new  forms,  uncon- 
sciously seek  to  obey  the  primal  instinct  of  their  organism 
— to  assume  and  develope  into  an  original  form— by  a 
union  with  a  woman  more  abundantly  supplied  with  vital 
energy  than  tliey  are  themselves,  while  men  more  lavishly 
endowed  by  nature  are  not  obliged  to  do  this — ^their  own 
originality  is  sufficient  for  them. 

Woman's  typical  character  is  responsible  for  her  hope- 
lessly commonplace  tastes.  It  is  true  that  any  unusual 
masculine  appearance — whether  what  is  unusual  be  phys- 
ical or  mental — attracts  woman's  fancy  and  has  an  intense 
fascination  for  her.  But  what  does  this  prove?  Merely  that 
what  is  novel  attracts  the  attention  and  interest  of  woman 
just  as  of  all  the  higher  animals.  But  her  fundamental  in- 
stinct impels  her  irresistibly  toward  what  is  stereotyped. 
The  perfect  specimen  of  the  average  man,  who  does  not  vary 
from  the  type  l)y  too  striking  stupidity  nor  extraordinary 
brilliancy,  who  keeps  to  established  precedents  in  his  com- 
pliments, and  gives  the  weather  due  consideration  in  his 
conversation,  who  cherishes  the  ideals  inculcated  in  the 
public  schools,  and  has  the  proper  dread  of  the  duly 


pi  JM  lOJIilllWMCIIIIJMIHiailli 


m 


MAJORITY  AND  MINOEITY. 


AMBITION    AND   VANITY. 


5B 


accredited  black  mao,  who  shares  the  opinions  and  senti- 
ments of  his  more  affluent  fellow-eitizens,  and  keeps  up 
with  the  times  in  tlie  shape  and  color  of  his  cravat,  this 
masterpiece  from  the  hand  of  a  Raphael  of  the  stencil, 
will  turn  the  heads  of  ninety-nine  women  in  a  hundred, 
and  no  Md,  free  hand  drawing  of  a  higher  type  of 
human  development  has  a  chance  beside  it 

In  the  course  of  centuries  one  woman  may  be  Iwrn 
who  has  ambition.     Pray  do  not  confound  this  noble  senti- 
ment with  tliiit  vulgar  vanity  which  likes  to  parade  as 
aml)ition.     Intriguing  women  who  love  power,  actresses, 
lashionable  women,  priestesses  of  society  who   like  to 
shine,  sometimes  imagine  that  they  are  ambitious.     But 
they  are  not  so  in  the  least.     Tlie  question  with  them  is 
merely  the  immediate  effect  produced  by  their  personality 
—they  love  to  procure  for  their  ignolile  egotism  the  satis- 
faction it  experiences  when  they  are  universally  considered 
beautiful,  or  elegantly  dressed,  or  intellectually  brilliant 
They  want  to  l)e  envied  by  other  women,  to  have  men  at 
their  feet,  to  have  people  torn  to  look  after  them  on  the 
street,  and  opera  glasses  directed  at  their  box  in  the 
theatre,  all  that  is  important  to  them  is  the  simplest  and 
most  superficial  manifestations  of  local  celebrity.   Ambition 
is  something  entirely  different  from  this.     It  is  the  irresist- 
ible impulse  to  iEcor|)oratc  one's  own  iMjrsonality  in  some 
production,  some  achievement  which  will  ensure  its  con- 
tinuance far  l)eyond  the  corporeal  span  of  existence  of  the 
individual.     It  is  a  passionate  resistance  to  the  universal 
decree  of  transitoriness,  the  sublime  desire  to  maintain 
our  individual  lieing— which  we  experience  and  recognize 
as  fully  justified,  as  powerful  and  necessary— in  its  special 
form  and  compel  nature  herself  to  rcsi)ect  and  spare  it 
What  we  call  ambition  pi-ocecds  from  the  primal  law  of 
life,  and  is  its  supreme  manifestation.     It  not  only  impels 


to  the  creation  of  original  organic  formations,  which  have 
only  to  V)e  themselves,  with  no  resemblance  to  any  others, 
hut  also  to  the  attempt  to  preserve  these  forms,  to  ensure 
their  perpetuation,  and  if  possible,  their  development  into 
a  new  species.     Ambition  is  founded  upon  an  abundant 
supply  of  life-force,  such  as  women  rarely  have.     They 
therefore  dream  of  conquests,  ])ut  never  of  what  we  call  im- 
mortality.    They  think  only  of  society  which  can  tell  them 
scaldino-  hot  at  the  time  :    "  Madame,  T  love  you  !  "    The  un- 
born gei^ierations  of  the  lar-distant  future,  whose  homage  and 
boU(iuets  can  not  reach  them,  do  not  attract  their  co(iuetry. 
The  longing  to  diverge  from  the  race,  and  found  a  new 
species,  of  wliich  she  would  be  the  primal  type,  is  never 
experienced  l)y  woman. 

The  predominance  ^f  the  law  of  heredity  in  the  female 
oriranisni  explains  also  all  the  rest  of  woi  lans  peculiarities 
of'mind  and  character.     She  is  almost  invariably  hostile 
U)  pnx'-ress.  and  is  the  staunchest  upholder  ol' conservatism 
in  every  form  and  on  every  lield.     She  clings  passionately 
to  all  that  is  old  and   traditional,  and  considers  what  is 
nevv-except  it  be  some  fashion,  l)y  which  she  hopes  to  in- 
crease the  effect  produced  by  her  physical  appearance— a 
persontd  insult     Servilely  repeating  what  has  been  done 
before  her,  in  her  mental  world  religion  is  •  transfonned 
into  superstition,  rational  institutions  into  external  forms, 
actions  replete  with  meaning  into  empty  ceremonies,  and 
the  rules  for  social  intinvourse,  prompted  originally  by  a 
considerate  regard  for  our  fellow-beings,  into  a  tyrannical 
and  silly  code  of  etiquette.     She  is  a  mental  automaton— 
with  the  rare  exceptions  which  I  have  conceded  al)ove— 
which  nmst  go  till  it  runs  down,  tlic  same  way  it  was  wound 
up^with  no  power  in  itself  to  alter  thc^  mechanism  of  its 

works. 

Now  that  I  have  described   in  detail  my  biological 


'Sffft' 


3IAJOR1TY  ANB  MINORlTy. 


foiiiidiitiijn  for  nil  tliiit  is  ei)iiiiiii>n  uiid  stereotyped  in  man, 
iny  eonceptioii  of  the  liniits  of  original ity  follows  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course.  Its  riglit  of  way  is  unlimited  sulyectively ; 
objec^tivel}',  it  is  eirciinnserilted.  When  I  am  alone,  I  can 
lie  original ;  when  I  mingle  witli  the  crowd,  to  Ikj  common- 
place is  in}'  firafc  dut}'  as  a  citizen.  Those  thoughts  and 
actions  wliicli  concern  the  individual  alone,  are  free  from 
the  restraints  of  custom,  but  those  actions  which  trespass 
upon  the  circles  of  others'  lives,  must  confonn  tf>  the  rule 
of  common  tradition.  By  the  oijeration  of  the  primal  law 
of  life,  I  am  an  original,  indei^ndent  individual,  a  8i)ecies 
unto  myself,  not  exactly  rescnihling  any  other  being,  and 
developing  aceordiug  to  a  design  peculiar  to  myself  alone; 
liut  by  the  oi^enition  of  the  law  of  hci*edity,  T  am  connectetl 
with  the  ra(«  liy  a  certiiin  extent  of  my  surface,  to  those 
lieings  who  resemlile  me  in  consequence  of  having  tlie 
same  genealogicid  derivation,  and  this  part  of  my  surface 
is  withdrawn  from  my  free  personal  jurisdiction.  Tu  this 
every  one  of  lis  rcsemlilcs  the  Siamese  Twins.  Each  head 
can  think  for  itself,  can  lie  meiT,y  or  sad  as  it  likes,  wise  or 
silly  as  it  is  provide<l  witli  brains ;  but  in  walking  or  sitting 
down  the  two  liodies  must  act  in  concert  These  truths 
liave  a  broad  application.  Tliey  vindicate  the  right  of 
nnivereal  suftrage.  They  him  in  homage  to  the  principles 
of  democracy.  The}'  are  tlie  foundations  nix)n  wiiich  the 
suprcmac}*  of  tlie  majority,  in  all  matt€»rs  concerning  the 
state  and  community,  is  based.  M}'  mental  horizon  lie- 
longs  to  myself  alone ;  within  its  limits  I  am  not  obliged 
to  endure  anything  that  disturbs  or  displeases  me,  and  I 
can  kick  my  neighbor's  cotton  night-cap,  the  tassel  on 
which  rises  presumptuously  liefore  me  like  a  forest- 
crowned  mountain  peak,  out  of  and  beyond  mj'  horizon. 
But  the  street,  the  cit}',  the  countr}-,  belongs  to  us  all 
together.    Here  yon  are  my  brother,  honorable  Philistine. 


MEN  OF   GENIUS  NOT   WANTED   IN  POLITICS. 


5& 


Here  I  am  obliged  to  read  your  wishes  in  your  eyes. 
Here  1  must  not  do  a  single  thing  that  will  interfere  with 
your  comfort,  and  when  I  want  yon  to  do  me  a  favor,  it  is 
ray  disagreeable  duty  and  obligation  to  tell  you  of  it  in 
terms  that  you  will  not  mistake,  and  bring  reasons  to  sup- 
port it  that  will  convince  you. 

It  follows  that  an  original  politician,  legislator  or 
statesman  is  not  wanted.     The  more  commonplace  each 
one  of  them  may  be,  the  better  for  him,  the  better  for  his 
nation.     Any  one  called  upon  to  construct  institutions  for 
the  people,  in  which  the  masses  are  to  live,  must  take  the 
measure  of  the  masses,  and  not  of  the  few.    The  regimental 
tailor  works  from  average  measurements,  and  not  accord- 
ing to  the  physical  proportions  of  some  guardsman  of  his 
acquaintance  of  an  especially  fine  physique,  and  what  the 
consequences  are  when  the  fox  invites  the  stork  to  dinner 
and  places  the  food  before  him  in  the  family  dishes,  can 
be  read  in  Schiller's  significant  fable.     The  natural  work- 
ings of  our  faculties  prevent  besides,  any  originality  in  our 
treatment  of  the  affairs  of  humanity  or  the  nation.    It  does 
not  require  any  special  intelligence  nor  special  acuteness 
to  remark  that  every  large  assembly  is  hopelessly  medi- 
ocre.    Collect  four  hundred  Goethes,  Kants,  Helmholtzes, 
Shakespeares,  Newtons,  etc.,  together,  and  Lwe  them  dis- 
cuss and  decide  upon  concrete  matters— their  speeches 
will  be  perhaps— and  even  this  is  not  certain— superior  to 
those  of  any  ordinary  convention,  but  not  so  their  decis- 
ions.    Why?     Because  each  one  of  them,  besides  his  per- 
sonal originality— which  rcndei-s   him  the  distinguished 
individuality  that  he  is— has  the  inherited  attributes  of  the 
race,  which  he  shares  not  only  with  his  neighlx)rs  in  the 
assembly,  but  with  all  the  nameless  pedestrians  on  the 
street.     We  can  express  this  mathematically  by  saying 
that  all  normal  human  beings  possess  a  certain  something 


li'  jll' 


MAJORITV    AN1>  3IIN0EITy. 


OENITTS   MUST   PERSUADE,    NOT   C03IMANB. 


57 


of  equal  value  in  coMimoii,  wliicli  we  will  cull  u,  and  the 
proiniiieiit  characters  a  certain  siMJcial  sometliiii*^  liesides, 
illffercEt  in  eacli  individual,  that  we  will  Iiave  to  designate 
in  each  fcspectivelj,  as  h^  c,  cl,  etc.  Suppose  tlien,  four 
Ininilrecl  men  assembled  together,  even  if  every  single  one 
be  a  gen  ins,  they  con  Id  only  be  designated  as  400  «'#?,  with 
one  5,  one  c,  one  c?,  etc.  Tlien  no  other  result  would  be 
jjossible  but  that  the  400  un  should  score  a  brilliant  tri- 
umph over  the  one  ?>,  c,  i/,  etc. — that  is,  that  what  is  com- 
mon to  them  as  humanity,  would  put  wiiat  is  individual  to 
flight,  that  the  cotton  eight-cap  would  knock  off  the  profes- 
sional silk  liat  It  Is  impossible  to  add  things  that  arc  un- 
like together ;  this  we  learned  in  the  primary  schcwl.  Con- 
scfiuently  a  comlnnation  of  lilockheads  is  conceivable,  but 
not  a  comliination  of  men  of  genius.  It  is  jiossible  to  ob- 
tain a  vote  of  the  majority  in  regard  to  the  flavor  of  sauer- 
kraut, but  not  u|}on  the  value  of  abstract  theories.  If  these 
latter  were  put  to  vote,  it  is  likely  that  one  ballot  would  l)e 
cast  in  favor  of  each  tlieory :  tiiat  of  its  originator. 

The  Philistine  is  thus  actuall}'  lord  in  the  land,  and 
the  most  stifl'-jointtMl  genius  has  to  keep  time  with  hini  in 
the  dance,  when  the  "all  hands  round"  is  played.  The 
substance  of  all  our  public  institutions  and  of  all  our  poll- 
tics,  is  not  the  intellectaial  pvo,luction  of  a  John  Stuart 
Mill  or  a  Ilerlicrt  S|)encer,  but  the  stereotyjxjd  ideas  of  the 
lionest  Kunz,  who  can  not  make  out  the  contents  of  his 
local  penny  sliect  without  the  assistance  of  his  forefinger 
in  following  the  lines ;  and  even  tlie  most  original  genius 
Xnsm  his  identity  and  disappeare  lieyond  recognition  in  tlie 
long  procession  wlien  the  masses  take  their  turn  in  line 
at  tlie  pcjlls  on  election  day. 

Must,  therefore,  the  man  of  genius  refrain  from  pro- 
claiming ideas  deviating  fix>m  all  tliase  hitherto  known 
and  accepteil,  and  relinquisli  his  eflTorts  to  convert  the 


Philistine  to  them?  By  no  means.  He  must  not  do  this ; 
in  liict  he  can  not  do  it  For  we  have  seen  how  each  orig- 
iind  type  has  an  inherent,  uncontrollable  impulse  to  force 
itself  upon  the  masses  and  shape  the  latter  after  its  own 
pattern.  But  that  from  which  the  man  of  genius  must 
always  refrain,  is  to  present  his  views  as  commands, 
and  to  expect  the  noble  army  of  Philistines  to  turn  at  his 
word  like  a  well-drilled  regiment.  He  must  preacli,  not 
eommand.  There  is  an  immense  difference  in  this;  all 
the  difference  between  the  missionary  and  tlie  general.  I 
observed  not  long  ago  that  the  Philistine  is  tlie  tdented 
man's  grain-field.  This  ilhistration  seems  to  me  so  fitting 
that  I  make  use  of  it  again.  The  original  thinker  has  to 
practise  husbandry  in  a  rough  way,  just  as  the  educator  of 
ehildren  practices  the  science  of  fine  gardening.  The  lat- 
ter grafts  on  young  wild  trees,  eulti>ated  slips  which  have 
<'-rown  on  other  and  older  trees  of  a  better  cpiality,  the 
former  sows  his  seed  with  broad  sweeps  of  his  arm,  and 
after  thoroughly  fertilizing  and  harrowing  tlie  land  he 
waits  patiently  until,  after  months  of  silent  germination, 
the  grain  shows  its  head  above  ground.  The  whole  thing 
is  only  a  question  of  time.  An  average  man  likes  to  in- 
herit his  ideas,  and  not  work  them  out  for  himself.  We 
have  only  then  to  impart  to  one  generation  wJiat  we  want 
to  have  become  the  common  property  of  the  succeeding 
generation.  Those  thoughts  and  trains  of  thought  which 
our  father  and  grandfather  have  had  in  their  minds,  and 
which  have  been  repeated  over  and  over  again  for  genera- 
tions, become  in  time  a  component  part  of  our  organism, 
liecomc  absorbed  into  it,  and  it  recpiires  no  more  effort  on 
the  part  of  the  individual  to  think  them,  than  to  eat  or  to 
sleep  or,  that  is,  to  perforin  any  other  function  that  has 
become  organic.  Novel  ideas  and  trains  of  thought,  on 
the  contrary,  which  appear  to  the  individual  for  the  first 


•JPO' 


MAJORITY  AN1>   MINORITY. 


THE   NEWS   DEPARTMENT   IN   OUR   ORGANISM. 


59 


time,  tliiwf  the  whole  of  his  thiiikiog  apparatus  out  of 
gear,  and  make  new  iustitulions  ueuessaiy  to  their  recep- 
tioD,  and  comijel  the  attention  aud  intervention  of  the  will 
and  the  consciousness.  It  is  like  weaving  by  machinery. 
When  an  old  design  is  being  woven,  for  which  the  loom 
has  been  pmijerly  ananged,  and  in  whicli  the  workman  is 
already  exiMjriencetl,  everything  works  smoothly  and  as  if 
bv  magic.  The  kwm-tender  can  dmmn  the  time  away 
without  neeessily  for  thought,  wiiilc  the  cloth  gi-ows  yartl 
by  yanl  But  if  a  new  design  is  to  be  followed,  the  loom 
must  be  rearranged  for  it,  the  Ijelt  tied  up  differently,  the 
shuttles  arranged  to  run  in  a  new  way,  the  8ni>erintendent 
must  he  on  hand  and  Uike  hold  himself,  the  loom-tender 
has  to  arouse  himself  from  his  comfortable  doze  aud  over- 
see matters— in  short,  the  work  no  longer  goes  on  by  itself, 
but  requires  a  head  and  hands  to  accomplish  it.  3Ien  of 
the  average  type  are  arranged  for  organic  intellectual  work 
and  can  not  perfonn  any  other.  They  are  not  strong  enough 
nor  skillful  enough  to  alter  their  loom  to  fit  a  new  design. 
The  sui^erior  mind  has  not  only  the  task  of  invcntr 
ing  the  new  designs,  but  of  rearranging  all  the  looms  in 
the  immense  factory  we  call  humanity,  even  to  their  small- 
est details,  so  that  they  can  proceed  to  weave  the  new  do- 
signs  as  they  had  previously  been  weaving  the  old.  The 
masses  resist  the  introduction  of  new  thoughts,  not  l3e- 
cause  they  do  not  want  to  think  them,  but  because  they 
are  not  competent  to  think  them.  It  requires  an  effort, 
and  eveiy  effort  is  painful,  and  we  avoid  what  tends  to 

cause  pain. 

This  seems  to  contradict  the  assertion  that  the  masses 

are  eager  for  novelty,  and  that  everything  new  finds  a 
ready  acceptance.  But  this  contradiction  is  only  an  appar- 
ent one,  as  a  brief  consideration  of  the  subject  will  soon 


Nothing  reaches  our  perception  or  consciousness  ex- 
cept the  changes  in  our  nervous  system.  When  there  is 
nothing  stirring  in  the  nervous  system,  neither  is  the 
thinking  and  feeling  Ego  conscious  of  anything.  The 
arrangement  of  the  news  department  in  our  organism  is 
not  that  of  a  vigilant  superintendent  in  chief,  stationed  at 
the  central  point  of  the  Ego,  who  despatches  messengers 
into  the  anterooms  and  outer  courts  at  brief  intervals  to 
ascertain  if  anything  new  is  occurring — ^the  superintendent 
remains  immovably  at  his  desk  in  the  inner  office,  where 
centre  all  communications  from  without.  When  no  mes- 
sages are  being  received  he  remains  quiet,  and  may  even 
fall  asleep— at  an}'  rate,  he  gives  no  sign  of  life.  But  when 
the  news  comes  from  without :  "  Some  one  is  knocking  iit 
the  right  hand  gate!"  or:  "A  stone  has  been  thrown 
against  the  window  in  the  upper  story  ! "  or :  "The  senti- 
nel in  the  outer  court  is  receiving  a  supply  of  provisions ! " 
or  anything  of  the  kind,  the  superintendent  wakes  up  and 
replies  at  once  with  a  message  that  the  intelligence  has 
been  received  and  duly  noted,  or  else  with  some  command 
ordering  what  is  to  be  done  on  the  occasion  of  the  occur- 
rence just  announced.  If  we  could  conceive  of  such  a 
thing  as  the  world's  passing  suddenly  into  a  state  of  com- 
plete immobility,  our  nerves  would  remain  in  the  condition 
in  which  they  are  at  the  time ;  there  would  be  nothing  to 
incite  them  to  action,  nothing  to  excite  them,  nothing  to 
produce  any  change  in  them,  which  could  be  perceived  l)y 
the  consciousness.  Our  eyes  would  not  see;  our  ears 
would  not  hear.  The  sentinels  would  still  be  stationed  at 
the  outer  boundaries  of  our  personality,  but  there  would 
be  nothing  for  them  to  notice,  nothing  for  them  to  report. 
Neither  would  we  think,  and  our  consciousness  wofc- ' 
be  sunk  in  apathy,  as  in  a  dreamless  sleep.  To  feel  i& 
tfeus  to  became  cognizant  of  tho  fact  that  the  present  ooti- 


1 


3L\.I01UTT   AND    MINORITY. 

ditioii  of  Hic  iicrvons  system  is  iiiidergoiiig  some  altera- 
tioii.     The  iiittn-vid,  almost  too  brief  to  l>c  noted,  iKitwccn 
tlic  eessation  of  oue  condition  and  the  ccHiiuiencement  of 
anotlier,  is  really  the  sole  snbstancc  of  all  oiir  perception 
and  consciousness.     Hence  it  follows  that  man,  in  order  to 
think,  in  order  to  become  conscions  of  his  Ego,  must  first 
receive  some  impnlse  from  without ;  this  impulse  or  exci- 
tation, liowex-cr,  can  only  be  caused  by  some  change,  viz., 
by  something  new.     And  as  the  consciousness  of  one's 
own  Kgo  is  tlic  necessar}'  prerequisite  to  all  agreeable  sen- 
sations°  and  is,  in  fact,  a  delight  in  itself,  perhaps  even  the 
most  intense  of  all  dcliglits  possi»)le  to  the  organism,  it 
follows  that  everything  that  is  new,  diflcriug  from  the  i)re- 
ceding,  a  chnnge,  which  by  exciting  the  nerves  becomes 
the  source  of  consciousness,  is  experienced  as  something 
agreealile  and  ardently  to  l)e  desired.     But  to  have  this 
cliauije  exiKiricnced  as  something  figrecable,  it  must  not  lie 
abrupt  :uid  violent     That  which  is  new,  which  is  to  (?xcite 
the  lu^rves,  must  difler  very  slightly  from  the  old,  fr(»ra 
tliat  which  preceded  it,  l»y  merely  a  degree,  a  shade  only. 
It  must  lie  the  neighbor  of  the  old,  and  aiipear  as  only  the 
CKjiitinuation  of  the  latter.     To  illustrate  tliis  with  a  famil- 
iar instance :  a  new  shape  to  the  dnjss  coat  will  readily 
iMicome  the  fashion  if  it  leaves  unaltered  the  outlines  of  the 
present  style  of  the  swallow-tail  coat,  and  the  genend 
cliaracteristics  of  this  garment— so  airily  designcnl  and  yet 
so  dignified— differing  from  the  preceding  style  in  insignifi- 
cant details  alone,  if  the  tails  are  cut  shorter  or  more 
rounded,  the  revers  wider  or  narrower,  and  showing  plain 
or  lined  with  silk.     But,  on  the  contrary,  it  would  be  a 
difficult  matter  for  some  strong-minded  and  uuprcgudiced 
tailor  to  succed  in  introducing  a  dress  coat  that  differed 
radically  from  the  present  styles,  something  in  the  shape 
of  a  Roman  toga  or  even  less  familiar  tliau  this.     Some- 


WHEN   NOVELTY   IS   ATTRACTIVE. 


61 


thing  entirely  different  from  what  has  preceded  it  awakens 
disagreeable  sensations  that  may  grow  into  the  most  in- 
tense  aversion   and   repugnance.      Loinbroso,   the    great 
lUilian  psychologist,  has  invented  a  very  apt  term  ibr  this 
aversion  and  repugnance,  -  misoneismus,"  hostility  to  what 
is  new,  and  proves  its  existence  in  uncivilized  man,  in  the 
child  and  even  in  animals.     To  return  to  my  simile  of  the 
loom :  if  the  threads  vary  in  color,  neither  the  machine 
nor  the  workman  in  charge  are  disturbed,  as  long  as  the 
design  remains  the  same.     A  change  in  the  color  of  what 
is  being  woven  does  not  require  any  alterations  in  the 
loom,  nor  any  more  attention  on  the  part  of  the  workman. 
But  if  the  pattern  has  to  be  changed,  it  entails  the  troul)le 
and  labor  described  above.     This  is  the  explanation  of  the 
fact  that  the  masses  are  attracted  by  what  is  novel,  and 
yet  rebel  against  everything  that  is  really  novel,  that  is 
specifically  different  from  all  their  accustomed  ideas,  with 
real  fury  and  often  with  the  energy  of  despair. 

I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  savage  races  disappear 
before  the  approach  of  civilization  simply  because  the 
enormous  change  in  all  their  surroundings  demands  too 
many  new  ideas  and  individual  efforts  of  their  minds.  By 
himself  alone,  without  any  assistance  from  his  inherited 
processes  of  thought,  the  individual  uncivilized  man  is  to 
accept  the  new  impressions,  make  them  his  own,  assimi- 
late them,  combine  them  into  ideas  and  trains  of  thought, 
and  respond  to  them  with  individual  conclusions  and 
actions  that  are  utterly  foreign  to  his  organism,  and  to 
which  his  brain  and  his  nerves  are  not  adapted.  This  is 
an  achievement  almost  beyond  the  power  of  civilized  man 
to  conceive  adequately.  For  it  very  rarely  happens  that 
even  the  most  original  civilized  man,  differing  the  most 
from  his  fellow  beings,  is  forced  to  accept  entirely  new  im- 
pressions, and  create  entirely  new  combinations  of  thoughts 


tt9 


MAJORITY   AND   MINOEITY. 


nDcl  eoiicliwions.  But  the  barbarian  is  called  upon  to  i>er 
form  this  most  exalted  aehieveineut  of  the  human  organism 
suddenly  and  continuous!}',  on  the  most  extended  scale. 
No  wonder  that  it  exhausts  him  completely  and  that  he 
soon  succumbs.  If  there  were  another  civilization  as  im- 
measurably beyond  ours  as  oers  is  beyond  that  of  a 
Papuan  of  New  Guinea,  and  it  were  to  buret  upon  us  with- 
out any  prepanition,  the  greatest  philosophers  and  states- 
men of  the  Caucasian  races  of  the  day  would  dwindle 
away  and  disapiiear  before  it  just  as  savage  tribes  die  out 
at  the  approach  of  our  civilization. 

My  conclusions  in  regard  to  the  relations  between  the 
genius  and  the  Philistine  are  drawn  from  these  observa- 
lions,  which  are  directly  opposed  to  those  of  Carlyle. 
The  Seer  of  Chelsea  has  his  hero  apiMjar  like  a  Captain 
Cook  in  the  crowd  of  average  men,  and,  calling  attention 
to  his  stout  guns  and  cannons,  demand  of  them  sub- 
mission, recognition  of  his  supremacy,  and  admiration  of 
his  superior  artistic  and  scientific  attainments,  I  do  not 
consider  the  life  of  one  of  the  select  few  to  be  at  all  like  a 
voyage  of  discovery  to  the  South  Sea,  and  a  landing 
among  naked  cannibals.  I  can  not  concetle  him  the  right 
to  demand  of  the  typical  masses  who  inherited  their  ideas 
ready-made,  the  same  original  intellectual  activity,  inde- 
jjendent  of  habits  that  have  become  organic,  which  are 
renderetl  easy  to  him,  the  untypical  individual,  by  a  greater 
supply  of  organic  enei-gy.  When  solitary  greatness  does 
not  content  his  impulse  to  work  upon  others,  if  he  is  not 
satisfied  to  sit  all  his  life  as  the  single  spectator  in  tlie 
theatre— like  a  well  known  eccentric  royal  personage— and 
listen  alone  to  the  play,  which  his  thoughts  are  ijerforming 
for  his  sole  laenefit,  when  he  has  that  instinct  inseparable 
from  all  powerful  manifestations  of  vital  energy  or  life- 
foroe,  to  ensure  perpetuation  to  his  form,  tmd  imprint  it 


GENIUS   MUST    WED   PATIENCE. 


63 


upon  otiier  organisms,  then  he  must  wed  to  his  originality 
ji  fair  damsel  wliose  name  is  Patience.  He  must  gradually 
iiecustom  the  masses  to  his  novel  ideas  as  to  a  foreign 
tongue  or  an  artistic  form  of  gymnastics,  that  is,  by  exam- 
ple, systematic  exphuuitions,  and  freciuent  repetitions.  In 
short,  the  (piestion  is  whether  the  average  man  can  lie 
broken  to  a  new  yoke  which  he  can  wear  with  the  same 
lack  of  thought  and  effort  as  the  old,  just  as  automatically, 
as  drowsily,  and  chewing  his  cud  in  the  same  way  as  the 
oia_and  this  precludes  all  sudden  innovations. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  notice  that  I  only  place  new 
and  old  ideas  in  opposition  to  each  other— not  better  aiul 
worse,  higher  and  lower— in  short,  that  I  refi'ain  Irom  eui- 
l)loying  atljectives  which  might  indicate  praise  or  l)lanic, 
or  a  prejudice  in  favor  of  some,  and  an  aversion  to  others. 
The  point  at  issue  in  the  silent  or  blatant  strife  between 
the  original  minority  and  the  typical  majority  is,  in  fact, 
nothing  but  the  attempt  to  substitute  new  concei)tions  in 
tlie  phuje  of  the  old  and  inherited  ones.     These  new  con- 
ceptions need  not  necessarily  be  better  ones,  their  essen- 
tial characteristic  is  merely  that  they  are  new,  that  they 
are  different  from   those   received   by   inheritance.     The 
masses  are  usually  called  stupid.     This  is  doing  them  i\n 
injustice.     Considered  by  themselves  alone,  they  are  not 
so  stupid,  they  are  only  not  so  wise  as  the  most  talented 
individuals  of  the  day.     The  masses  merely  represent  that 
stage  of  develoi)ment  on   which   the   talented  few  were 
sUmding  yesterday.     The  talented  few  of  today  are  farther 
advanced,  it  is  true,  l)ut  tomorrow  the  masses  will  be  where 
the  former  are  now,  and  to  have  the  right  to  call  them  be- 
hind the  times,  and  to  look  down   upon  them,  the  genius 
of  tomorrow  must  surpass  the  genius  of  today  as  much  as 
the  latter  surpasses  the  common  herd.     Originality  and 
mediocrity  have  thus  not  a  positive,  but  only  a  relative 


its, 


MAJORITY  AND'  MIMORITY. 


significaiice.     The  exeepiioii  strives  to  lieeoiiic  the  rule, 
the  original  specimen  to  beeoine  tlie  tyim     Powerful  indi- 
vidualities are  valued  as  iiHlependently  invented  models 
wMch  average  men  are  to  faithfully  copy.     The  new  style 
of  hat  designed  by  some  audacious  inventive  genius  yes- 
terday, when  it  caused  a  sensation  on  the  city  boulevard, 
will  parade  tomorrow  at  the  village  church  on  the  heads  of 
all  the  peasant  girls,  and  will  no  longer  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  even  the  beribtoned  farmei-s'  lads.     What  causes 
this  difference  in  its  effect?    Is  the  sha|K5  altered  in  any 
way?     No.    It  has  only  ceased  to  be  rare.     Commonness 
is  worn-out  originality.      Originality   is  the  first  night, 
•*  premiere,"   as  the  French  say,  of  commonness.      We 
shrug  our  shoulders  now  when  we  find  a  sentimental  poet 
comparing  the  eyes  of  his  lady  love  to  stars,  and  admire 
Lenau  when  he  says  in  his  boldly  figurative  language : 
*'The  krk  climbs  in  triumph  to  the  skies  on  her  guy- 
colored  songs."    And  yet,  the  former  simile  is  a  Ijciiutiful 
one,  lar  more  Ijeautiful  than  the  latter.     The  lover  in  com- 
paring the  eyes  of  his  loved  one  to  the  stars,  gives  us  lii-st 
a  comprehensive  description  of  them,  and  then,  in  copying 
the  picture  of  the  eyes  in  question,  makes  use  of  a  method 
of  enlai-ging  it  which  must  flatter  the  vanity  of  the  fair  one 
thus  complimented,  and  enables  her  to  fonn  a  fine  idea  of 
the  exalted  inspiration  of  his  genius.     He  also  associates 
the  i»rson  of  his  loved  one  with  the  UKist  sublime  phe- 
nomena of  the  universe,  and  exalts  her  lieyoud  her  petty 
individual  finiteness  into  the  infinity  of   nature    itself. 
Ijenau*8  simile  can  hardly  bear  comparison  with  this;  it 
at  liest  only  summons  up  the  image  of  a  ladder  in  our 
minds,  even  if  it  te  a  Imlder  painted  in  bright  coloi-s,  up 
which  a  lark  is  climbing  like  a  trained  tree-toad  in  his 
glass.     It  might  indeed,  be  an  interesting  sight,  but  not 
an  especially  beautiful  nor  even  an  inspiring  one.    The 


III" 


COMMONPLACENESS  A  BADGE  OF   HONOR. 


65 


comparison  of  eyes  to  stars  must  certainly  have  produced 
a  profound  impression  upon  his  contemporaries  when  some 
poetic  genius  of  the  darkest  of  all  dark  ages  hit  upon  it 
for  the  first  time.  It  has  become  commonplace.  Why? 
Because  it  is  magnificent  Lenau's  striking  simile  will 
never  meet  with  this  fate.  It  is  not  profound  enough  for 
it.  And  this  is  what  I  have  been  aiming  at :  all  that  is 
commonplace  and  stereotyped  today  was  not  only  the 
originality  of  yesterday,  but  the  very  flower  of  this  origin- 
ality, all  that  w^as  best  and  most  valuable  in  it,  all  of  it 
that  deserved  preservation,  not  only  because  it  was  new, 
l)ut  because  it  was  new,  good,  and  true.  Hats  off  to  the 
Commonplace !  It  is  the  aggregate  of  whatever  is  most 
excellent  in  all  that  the  human  intellect  has  conceived  up 
to  the  present  daj\ 

What  we  call  public  opinion,  that  is.  the  ideas  that 
sway  the  masses,  ought  not  to  be  the  criterion  for  the  best 
intellects  of  any  given  time.  But  it  is  worthy  of  interest- 
ing even  the  highest  intellects,  in  so  far  as  it  is  the  fruit 
of  the  whole  of  the  previous  development  of  mankind. 
The  confused  tumult  in  a  mass-meeting  consists  of  the 
voices  of  great  thinkei-s  who  speak  from  their  graves, 
often  a  thousand  years  old,  through  the  throat  of  some 
ward  politician,  hoarse  from  excessive  beer-drinking,  and 
any  one  who  will  take  the  trouble  to  resolve  the  noise  into 
its  constituent  elements,  can  trace  each  party  cry,  that  has 
long  since  lost  its  meaning,  and  each  empty  phrase,  back 
to  some  grand  original  source.  The  commonplaces  of  the 
Philistine's  speech  began  their  career  as  something  start- 
lino-  and  brilliant,  and  every  instinctive  inclination  and 
aversion,  every  prejudice,  every  involuntary  act  of  the 
avera<ye  man,  was  in  the  first  place  the  result  of  the  severe 
and  earnest  mental  exertion  of  some  exceptional  being. 
The  majority,  in  short,  and  in  conclusion,  signifies  the  past  j 


' II 


66 


MAJOKITY   ANB  MINOEITY. 


ORIGINALITY   A   BANE   IN   POLITICS. 


67 


the  raiiiority  caE  signify  the  futiiiT.  if  its  originality  is 
authentic.  Aristotle,  the  fjitlier  of  onr  acquirements  in 
most  fields  of  knowledge,  would  not  he  able  to  pass  a 
college  examination  anywhere  today,  except  perhaps  in 
Greek,  and  even  in  this,  he  migiit  not  l)e  so  well  grounded 
as  some  of  our  modern  philologists.  Harvey's  explana- 
tion of  the  circulation  of  the  Wood— to  liis  contemixiraries, 
an  incredil)ly  audacious  and  heretical  contradiction  of  all 
K»cognized  truths — is  now  taught  in  the  public  schools 
witlioiit  causing  any  sensation,  and  the  genius  who  now 
towers  supreme  al>ove  the  masses,  and  [)rides  himself  upon 
liaving  nothing  in  common  with  tliem,  upon  thinking  and 
feeling  differently  from  them,  and  nc»t  i»eing  understood  by 
tlic  crowd,  would  perhaps  Ijc  astonished  if  lie  could  return 
to  tlic  earth  a  thousand  years  lienee,  to  hear  the  small  \my» 
rc»peating  his  most  pechliar  and  startling  ideas,  with  as 
much  liiicncy  and  comprelieusion  of  the  subject  as  if  they 
were  telling  him  the  time  of  day. 

What  I  am  unable  to  understand  under  these  circum- 
stances is  that  tlic  conservatives  and  i-eaetioniste,  the 
defenders  of  existing  institutions  and  opponents  of  all 
innovations,  are  always  hostile  to  the  principles  of  deraoc- 
racv.  If  thev  realized  what  was  for  their  best  interests, 
they  would  all  be  arch  democrats,  they  would  advise  the 
Czar  to  introihice  universal  suffrage  into  Russia,  they 
would  liave  the  Swiss  Referendum  instead  of  their  present 
Parliament,  and  consider  the  decisions  of  a  popular  assem- 
lily  of  incomparalily  greater  imix)rtancc  tlian  those  of  a 
cabinet  meeting.  The  masses  are  always  conservative,  be- 
caose  they  act  from  inheritcnl  racc-impnlses  and  not  from 
individual  trains  of  tliougbt;  they  are  consequently  only 
alile  to  feel  at  home  in  the  inlu  ritetl  conditions,  and  not 
in  new  ones.  Tliey  may  at  times  obey  some  iwwerfiil 
individual  will  that  has  dragged  tliein  out  of  the  ruts  of 


custom,  but  no  impulse  of  their  own  to  roam  at  will,  will 
ever  induce  them  to  forsake  the  l}eaten  paths  of  preceding 
generations.     Revolutions  are  always  the  work  of  a  minor- 
ity of  individuals,  whose  originality  can  not  endure  the 
inherited  conditions  which  were  not  calculated  for  them, 
and  which  are  not  adapted  to  them.     The  majority  follows 
tliem,  but  reluctantly,  and  not  until  they  have  become 
gradually  accustomed  through   several  ages  to  consider 
the  existent  conditions  as  outgrown  and  unjustifiable.    The 
only  true  innovators  known  to  history  are  those  enlight- 
ened despots  of  whom  the  conservative  historian  raves. 
On  the  other  hand,  those  revolutions  that  proceeded  from 
the  masses,  soon  sank  irrevocably  into  commonplaceness. 
We  ought4iot  to  place  the  portrait  of  Frederick  the  Great, 
or  Joseph  II,  at  the  commencement  of  a  reactionary  his- 
torical work,  but  that  of  some  Democrat  of  '48,  with  the 
significant  hat  of  his  epoch,  and  if  reactionists  were  intelli- 
gent and  honest,  they  would    acknowledge    tliat  barri- 
cades are  one  of  the  supports  to  the  present  structure  of 

state  and  society. 

However,  when  I  employ  the  word  commonplace  in 
connection  with  politics,  I  use  this  tenn  as  a  mark  of 
respect.  The  object  of  politics  is  to  procure  for  the  masses 
the  most  favoral>le  conditions  of  existence,  possible ;  it 
must  therefore  conform  to  the  necessities  of  the  masses. 
They  think  and  feel  automatically,  that  is,  by  established 
precedents,  and  in  habits  that  have  become  organic ;  they 
therefore  demand,  and  with  justice,  that  they  be  not  called 
uiwn  to  perform  new  and  individual  mental  labor,  which  is 
almost  always  beyond  their  powei-s.  By  politics,  then,  we 
mean  the  rule  of  the  majority,  commonplaceness,  inherited 
traditions.  Any  one  not  disposed  to  approve  of  these 
terms,  as  too  unpartisan,  can  substitute  for  them,  the  tyr- 
anny of  mediocrity  and  the  good  old  way,  if  he  likes. 


bo 


MAJOEITY  AMB  MlNORITT. 


THE  Philistine's  place  in  the  world. 


69 


III 


Tlie  stroog-wilM  iudividuiil  of  original  development  is  not 
comfortable  in  the  t3'pieal  conditions  which  are  preciselj' 
adapted  to  the  t3*pica!  masses.     So  much  the  worse  for  the 
strong-willed  individnal.     He  has  no  right  to  force  the 
short  legs  of  everj'-da}-  people  into  his  long  pantaloons,  on 
tliat  acconnt    Ever}*  institution  that  pleases  the  miijority 
is  a  good  one;  not  considered  in  itself,  hut  under  the 
given  circumstances.     Tliis  can  not  be  otherwise.    Let  us 
assume  that  tlie  masses  are  mistaken,  that  they  arc  de- 
manding what  is  nonscuse  and  are  passing  the  most  fool- 
ish laws.     Then  for  Heaven's  sake,  let  us  hasten  to  grant 
their  nonsensical  demands  and  carry  the  foolish  laws  into 
execution !    Tlie  masses  will  soon  find  that  they  arc  woi"se 
off  than  tliey  were  before ;  some  wiser  and  more  for-sighted 
minds  will  reveal  to  them  the  causes  of  their  distress,  and 
they  will  soon  demand  the  needed  changes.     If,  however, 
contrary  to  all  expectation,  they  find  themselves  pleaseil 
with  their  nonsense  and  eomfortolile  nnder  their  foolish 
laws,  tlien  they  are  completely  justified,  when  tlie  wise-acre 
tries  to  convince  them  with  all  his  might  that  they  are  un- 
reasonable in  feeling  pleased  and  comfortable  under  these 
conditions,  in  escorting  him  out  of  the  temple,  according 
til  ancient  usage,  with  a  shower  of  brick-bats,  or,  in  the  less 
elegant  modern  style,  pointing  him  out  to  the  police  as  a 
treasonable  individual  or  a  disturber  of  the  pnl)lic  peace. 
If  the  masses  are  stupid,  let  tliem  sta}-  stupid  !     It  is  very 
Mc  and  nolile  in  the  more  intelligent  individual  to  wish  to 
undertake  the  arduous  task  of  graduallj'  educating  them 
up  to  a  higher  grade  of  intelligence,  but  at  first  the}'  can 
demand  institutions  and  laws  adapted  letter  to  the  com- 
prehension of  lilocklieads  than  to  that  of  shrewd  and 
eraft}'  legal  quibl>lers  and  stock-spceulators.     I  can  only 
offer  my  sympatliy  to  the  minority  of  intelligent  individ- 
uals who  are  compelled  to  live  under  tlie  same  laws  and 


institutions.  Let  iis  imagine  a  city  inhabited  altogether 
or  almost  exclusively  by  blind  people.  Theoretically 
we  can  conceive  of  such  a  thing.  A  person  not  blind 
would  demand  to  have  the  streets  lighted.  His  suggestion, 
in  itself,  would  be  most  excellent.  He  could  advance  the 
most  convincing  arguments  in  favor  of  the  necessity  for 
street  lamps,  and  portray  with  the  most  vivid  eloquence 
the  glories  of  the  night  illuminated  by  the  electric  light. 
And  yet,  the  blind  populace  would  reject  his  proposition 
by  a  unanimous  vote,  and  I  should  like  to  see  any  rational 
being  who  would  not  acknowledge  that  they  were  right, 
and  the  advocate  of  the  illuminating  system  wrong! 
Alxlera,  the  home  of  Democritus,  requires  a  city  council 
consisting  of  Abderites  alone,  and  tliere  is  no  room  in  it 
for  the  guests  of  the  Platonic  symposia.  If  the  latter 
are  residing  in  the  city,  however,  and  do  not  wish  to  emi- 
«rrate,  there  is  nothino:  for  them  to  do  but  to  establish  a 
v\uU  among  themselves,  where  they  can  meet  and  ridicule 
tlu'ir  fellow-citizens  to  their  hearts'  content. 

1  think  the  Philistine  can  be  satisfied  with  the  place  1 
have  assigned  to  Iiim  in  the  world.  T  consider  him  a  mon- 
umental figure,  that  is,  the  monument  of  the  past— to  be 
sure  not  always  very  perfectly  preserved— with  nose  de- 
faced, wretched  attempts  at  restoration,  and  a  coat  of 
whitewash  applied  by  some  barliarian  of  a  town  white- 
washer.  His  physiognomy  is  a  chromo-lithograph  of  some 
picture  of  great  merit  as  a  work  of  art.  He  is  the  uni- 
versal legatee  of  Genius,  which  bequeathes  to  him  its 
most  precious  treasures.  I  see  in  imagination  above  the 
white  night  cap  the  green  turban  that  proclaims  him  the 
descendant  of  the  Prophet.  Genius  of  course  will  not 
allow  him  to  enter  its  inmost  sanctuary.  This  is  its  ex- 
clusive, individual  domain.  The  majority  has  no  voice 
there.     How  the  man  of  genius  thinks  and  feels  is  his  own 


70 


MAJORITY  AND   MINORITY. 


affair  alone.  But  when  he  issues  fortli  frora  his  sanctuary, 
when  he  is  no  longer  content  with  the  effect  produced  by 
his  example  alone,  when  he  is  no  longer  satisfied  to  act 
for  himself  alone,  he  must  lay  aside  the  special  robe  of 
originality  and  assume  the  unifonn  of  commonplaceness. 
Then  he  can  be  nothing  more  than  an  honored  Philistine 
among  the  Philistines.  In  England,  any  prince  or  lord 
wishing  to  have  any  share  in  the  administration  of  the 
municipal  government,  must  first  apply  fV>r  admittance  to 
some  Guild.  He  must  beconu',  nominally,  a  toilor  or 
draper  or  something  of  the  kind.  This  is  just  exactly 
what  1  mean. 


A     RETROSPECT. 


Once  at  a  large  evening  party,  I  sat  in  the  corner  and 
observed  the  scene  before  nie.  The  host  was  forcing  his 
hard  and  unyielding  features  into  that  rigid  smile  or  rather 
grin  of  a  danseuse,  which  shows  too  plainly  that  it  has 
been  borrowed  for  the  occasion  from  some  dealer  in  masques 
and  costumes.  Tlie  hostess  was  curving  her  carmine 
painted  lips  in  a  sweetly  amiable  smile,  while  she  was 
darting  glances  of  triple  distilled  poisonous  envy  at  some 
of  her  feminine  guests  who  were  3'ounger  and  more  beauti- 
ful than  herself  The  young  ladies  were  playing  the  com- 
edy role  of  startled  and  rustic  country  innocence,  cleverly 
at  times,  and  tlien  so  awkwardly  that  one  was  tempted  to 
hiss  them  off  the  stage  and  pelt  them  with  rotten  apples- 
there  were  little  mouths  left  open  in  the  forgetfulness  of 
pretty  confusion,  eyes  raised  toward  Heaven  in  causeless 
ecstasy,  there  were  perfectly  imbecile  "ah's"  and  "ohs," 
bursts  of  Idiotic  giggling,  like  what  oystei-s  might  indulge 
in  if  some  mischievous  finger  were  to  tickle  them,  witty 
little  repartees  which  made  me  want  to  raise  my  arms  to 
Heaven,  and  utter  a  yell  of  despair,  and  through  all  this 
charming  l>y-play  and  perpetual  motion,  the  marvellous 
self  control  of  a  warrior  grown  gray  in  service.  Now  and 
then  a  hard,  implacable  side-glance  at  some  rival,  a  cruel 
or  envious  criticism  of  her  appearance  and  toilette,  with  a 
scrupulous  depreciation  of  its  value,  scientifically  accurate 
observance  of  the  length  of  her  conversation  with  the  di^ 


72 


A  EETBOSPECT. 


AN  EVENING  PARTY. 


73 


ferent  gentlemen  and  attention  to  the  number  of  her  part- 
ners and  suitors,  and  between  all  this  €old-bloo<led  calcula- 
tion, at  brief  inteiTals  a  mental  falling  on  her  knees  at  her 
own  shrine,  and  repeating  the  constsintlj  recurring  litan}* 
of  self- worship :  "Thou  art  the  loveliest,  the  wittiest,  the 
most  graceful  of  all,  Amen  ! "  Tlie  3  oung  and  the  would- 
be  5'oung  gentlemen  were  worth)'  partnei-s  of  this  charming 
rose-garden  of  young  ladies,  as  people  are  accustomed  to 
sa3\  They  were  admiring  the  whiteness  and  smoothness 
of  their  expanse  of  shirt  front,  the  brilliancy  of  their 
jjointed  shoes  on  their  large,  flat  feet,  and  the  fit  of  their 
dress  coats.  They  were  almost  able  to  imitate  the  chame- 
leon as  the}*  looked  love  at  some  fair  damsel  with  one  eye 
ami  with  the  otlier  cast  still  more  infatuated  glances  at  the 
mirror.  I  The  empty  space  in  their  minds  was  filled  with 
one  single  image:  that  of  their  own  irresistible  selves./ 
"When  one  of  them  was  conversing  with  any  lady,  he  was 
watc^hing  with  the  most  extreme  tension  of  all  his  mental 
faculties,  the  effect  which  he  was  producing  upon  her,  and 
which  he  was  trjing  to  increase  as  much  as  possible  b)-  a 
thousand  absurd  little  arts  of  bod}',  voice,  glances  and 
language.  AH  this  while  the  lady  was  occupied  in  the 
same  wa}' — tiying  to  produce  tlie  profoundest  impression 
l>ossible  upon  him,  and  the  collision  of  these  two  absolutely 
imme:isurable  vanities,  these  doubly  merciless  egotisms, 
produced  in  both  the  gentleman  and  tlie  lady,  a  delightful 
self-satisf action,  visible  to  all, — such  as  the  organism  ex- 
|)eriences  when  it  is  conscious  of  an}-  grand  and  appropri- 
ate manifestation  of  energj'.  Besides  these  male  and 
female  fools  so  passionately  in  love  with  themselves,  be- 
sides these  insatiate  scalp-hunters  of  Iwth  sexes — who  only 
seek  victims  in  a  drawing  rtiom  as  in  a  primeval  forest,  to 
be  able  to  susijend  their  trophies  from  their  belts — there 
were  other  prsons  to  interest  the  s|>ectator.    Shrewd  and 


practical  suitoi-s  wore  bi}iiig  sicgo  to  the  mothers  and 
aunts  of  wealthy  heiresses.  Some  repulsive-looking  block- 
heads were  groui)ed  around  this  ami  thut  silly  and  brazen- 
faced flirt,  about  wIkjui  all  sorts  t>t*  scandalous  stories  wore 
whispered  from  oar  to  ear,  and  their  sensual  eyes,  their 
satyr-like  smilo,  revealed  the  secret  thoughts  that  were 
exciting  their  morbid  senses.  Other  people  were  crowd- 
ing around  a  young  man,  the  prime  minister's  influen- 
tial i)rivate  secretary,  and  did  not  consider  it  any  dis- 
grace to  receive  his  unspeakable  platitudes  with  smiles  of 
approval  and  npplause.  A  famous  poet  was  being  forced 
into  a  corner  by  a  couple  of  officious  ladies— who  by  every 
means  sought  to  conceal  their  rings  of  annual  growth,  and 
made  to  serve  as  a  pretext  for  the  utterance  of  silly  com- 
monplaces upon  certain  works  of  poetry.  A  profound, 
philosophical  thinker  was  so  ill-advised  as  to  stray  into  a 
small  circle  which  had  gathered  around  an  artist  inflated 
with  sell-conceit,  and  once  there,  was  so  good-natured  as  to 
take  part  in  the  conversation.  The  artist  was  talking  of 
nothing  l)ut  himself,  his  rivals,  his  paintings  and  his  tri- 
umphs, and  f(ir  a  whole  half  hour  gave  the  philosopher  no 
chance  for  anything  but  the  most  non-committal  and  even 
imbecile  remarks  at  which  he  must  have  blushed  himself, 
afterwards.  An  actor  was  declaiming  some  anecdotes  of 
the  green  room  of  rather  questionable  taste,  with  an  em- 
phasis and  an  energy  as  if  he  were  standing  on  Mt.  Sinai 
and  proclaiming  the  salvation  of  the  world,  and  flames  of 
admiration  were  darting  from  the  eyes  of  his  fair  listeners 
which  almost  burnt  holes  in  the  waistcoat  of  this  theatrical 
High  Priest.  A  man  of  many  millions  was  looking  at  this 
brilliant,  busy  scene,  and  thinking  to  himself  complacently 
how  much  more  grandeur  and  sublimity  he  represented 
than  these  poets  and  philosophers,  actors  and  artists,  insig- 
nificant creatures  to  whom  the  fashion  of  the  day  or  the 


74 


A  RETROSPECT. 


partialltj  of  society,  yieltled  a  ccrtoiB  proijortionate  respect, 
but  who  yet,  taken  Jill  togetlier,  were  not  worth  a  himdmlth 
part  of  his  sigiiiitino.  So  this  blending  of  idiotic  arro- 
gance, of  silly  love  of  dress,  of  limitiitions  and  lowness  of 
mind,  adamantine  self-conceit,  and  mere  sleek  stupidity, 
whirled  on  with  dance  and  conversation,  with  the  har- 
monious accompaniment  of  music  and  the  clatter  of  plates 
and  cups,  until  five  or  six  houre  had  struck  one  after  the 
other,  and  the  guests  had  taken  leave,  with  long-drawn 
features  and  black  circles  around  their  eyes. 

Arrived  at  home  1  began  to  meditate  ui)on  tlie  impres- 
sions received  during  the  evening,  as  is  my  unfortunate  halv 
it  Wliy  had  I  fatigued  m}-self  by  the  unwholesome  \igil? 
Wh)  IimI  1  deprived  myself  of  the  comforts  of  my  bed  U> 
breathe  air  whose  oxygen  luid  alrctuly  been  consumctl  by 
common,  stupid,  bad  or  mediocre  peoiile,  in  tlie  heat  and 
the  crowd?  What  benefit  to  boily,  mind  or  temper  had  I 
obtained  from  this  torture?  What  agreeable  impressions 
had  I  recei\  eil?  what  witty  or  sensible  remark  liad  I  heard? 
to  what  rational  expressions  of  my  sentiments  had  I  been 
impelled?  Glancing  over  the  last  few  hours  1  saw  nothing 
at  all :  a  desert  with  a  few  dry  camel  bones,  and  s<ime 
hyenas  laughing  in  the  distimce,— a  gloomy  darkness  with 
a  weird  ignis-fatnus:— a  black  chasm  in  my  life.  1  began 
to  be  ashamed  of  my  cowardice  in  having  accepted  the 
invitation  Iwcause  it  would  haiilly  have  done  to  have 
snubted  the  aristocratic  and  influential  host  by  declining 
it.  I  felt  humiliated  when  I  remembered  the  immoral 
patience  with  which  I  had  received  the  ari-ogaut  or  merely 
imbecile  remarks  made  to  me,  and  even  smiled  |K>litcly  at 
them,  when  I  thought  of  the  incompreliensible  weakness 
with  which  I  hatl  stepiMjd  into  other  people's  tubs  and  waded 
in  the  mire  of  their  views  and  opinions—it  actually  seemed 
to  me  as  if  I  were  one  of  the  parties  to  the  crime  with- 


WHAT   THE   MICROSCOPE   REPRESENTS. 


75 


out  any  extenuating  circumsUmces  to  plead  in  my  favor. 
I  had  a  regular  Katzfujamnur,  all  the  more  acute  as  1  had 
not  had  the  pleasures  of  the  previous  iutoxication.  And, 
as  usually  happens  in  such  eases,  I  did  not  vent  my  ili- 
humor  \x\ion  myself— who  alone  was  really  to  blame  for  it 
all,_but  upon  the  rest.  It  is  so  characteristic  of  human 
nature  to  make  others  responsible  for  the  discomfort  that 
we  have  inflicted  upon  ourselves.  So  I  tried  to  enliven 
my  embittered  mood  by  passing  a  universal  sentence  oi 
condemnation  upon  all  mankind.  All  geese,  or  donkeys,  or 
rascals  !  lluminating  animals,  or  blood-thirsty  l)easts.  or 
mongrel  dogs  of  that  kind  whose  pups  are  always  drowned 
or  given  away  !  Olyects  of  disgust  or  of  horror  !  And  a 
rascal  or  a  fool,  he  who  'athout  being  driven  to  it  uv 
necessity,  will  train  with  these  eieatures,  and  voluntaruv 
howl  with  the  wolves  and  bellow  with  the  oxen,  and  i)raise 
the  flavor  of  carrion  to  the  vulture  and  compiimcnt  tne 
turkey-hen  upon  her  intellect ! 

While  these  thoughts  were  chasing  each  other  through 
my  brain,  my  glance  fell  accidentally  upon  my  mieroscope 
left  ui)on  the  writing  table  after  my  afternoon's  work. 
The  sight  of  this  instrument  affected  me  as  never  before. 
The  comparison  may  seem  extraordinary  but  the  miero- 
scope seemed  to  rise  Ijefore  me  like  the  nude  Phryiie  before 
the  judges  at  Athens,  and  say:  "Look  at  me,  and  then 
condemn  me  if  you  can  !  "  I  heard  a  voice  in  my  heart 
that,  with  solemn  emphasis,  began  to  call  me  unjust,  and 
to  praise  in  exalted  terms  the  human  race  which  I  had  just 
been  condemning.  How  had  I  dared  to  accuse  those 
beings  who  had  been  able  to  invent  the  microscope,  of  stu- 
pidity and  superficiality.  What  profound,  persevering  and 
intense  mental  effort  even  this  one  instrument  represented  ! 
It  might  be  that  it  had  been  chance  alone  which  had  re- 
vealed the  action  of  a  ray  of  light  upon  a  convex  or  a  con- 


76 


A   RETROSPECT. 


cave  glmss  and  tlien  efwn  a  combination  of  both.  But  the 
human  intelkjct  had  Udcen  advantage  of  this  accident,  and 
by  its  exertions  had  obttuned  from  it  all  the  fruits  it  was 
able  to  produce.  The  track  of  the  rays  of  light  through 
the  different  glasses  had  to  be  traced  and  accurately  de- 
termined, as  they  first  separate,  then  converge,  and  then 
unite.  The  geometrical  laws  for  these  phenomena  had  to 
be  disco vei*ecl  An  apparatus  of  marvellous  delicacy  had 
to  be  constructed  to  engrave  lines  on  a  sheet  of  glass  that 
would  divide  a  millimeter  into  tenths.  Men  have  accom- 
plished all  this.  And  why  this  exi>enditure  of  energy  and 
thought?  To  move  the  bonndarj-  stone  of  knowledge  very 
slightly  forwaixl — a  distance  almost  too  infinitesimal  to  be 
measured.  For  none  but  the  entirelj'  ignorant  can  over- 
estimate the  services  which  the  microscope  has  been  able 
to  render  to  humanity.  What  we  can  distinguish  through 
the  microscope  is  not  only  in  size  but  also  in  importance, 
of  infinitely  less  value  than  what  we  can  see  with  the  naked 
eye.  The  dog  is  far  more  wonderful  than  the  infusoria  and 
the  oak-tree  than  the  bjicterium.  A  vein  is  far  more  won- 
derful than  a  hair  bulb,  the  combined  movement  of  an  arm 
far  more  surprising  than  the  crawling  motion  of  a  lump  of 
protoplasm  or  the  Brown's  sparkle  on  some  inorganic  atom 
of  matter,  and  a  human  chest  with  everything  contained  in 
it,  far  more  anifizing  than  a  cell  and  its  ct)ntent&  The 
conclusions  in  regard  to  the  relations  existing  between  the 
univerae  aud  our  Ego,  which  a  single  glance  at  the  world 
around  us  enables  us  to  form,  are  teyond  all  comparison 
with  those  drawn  from  the  most  ijersevering  study  of  mi- 
croscopical preparations.  Of  that  which  we  are  really 
anxious  to  know — how  bodies  are  constituted  in  their  in- 
most structure,  of  what  final,  simplest  elements  they  are 
composed,  and  the  oi)eration  of  the  chemical  and  vital 
forces — ^the  microscope  does  not  reveal  a  syllable.    The 


THE    SECRETS   OF   NATURE. 


77 


last  form  of  all.  disclosed  to  us  by  the  most  perfect  of 
these  instruments,  is  the  cell,  in  which  we  distinguish  a 
kernel.     Possibly  our  sight  may  reach  so  lar  as  to  discern 
that  this  kernel  consists  of  an  integument,  probably  cou- 
tnining  some  fluid,  with  a  central  nut  or  atom.     Here  our 
seeing'^and  distinguishing  ceases.    Judging  from  its  actions, 
the  cell-kernel  must  l)e  an  extremely  complicated  piece  of 
mechanism,  whose  construction  and  operation  we  ought  to 
first  understand  before  ^^e  can  solve  the  mystery  of  life. 
But  such  an  enormous  interval  still  extends  between  the 
cell-kernel  and  its  ultimate  constituent  elements,  that  the 
short  distance  we  have  traversed  by  the  aid  of  the  micro- 
scope—from  the  tissue  visil)le  to  the  naked  eye,  to  the  cell 
—is  not  to  be  mentioned  in  comparison  with  it.     It  is  as 
If  I  were  sitting  in  a  room  in  Berlin  and  wanting  to  look 
over  at  New  York,  had  opened  my  door  so  that  my  range 
of  vision  had  l)een  enlarged  by  the  w  lole  width  of  the 
anteroom.     And   for   this  insignificant   increase  of  their 
range  of  vision,  men  have  taken  all  these  infinili;  i)ains, 
have  toiled  so  perseveringly,  ami  expended  so  nnich  intel- 
ligence and  skill ! 

Turning  from  my  microscope  to  the  book-case,  my 
glance  fell  i^pon  the  works  of  Thompson  and  liehnhoUz. 
I  beoan  to  meditate  upon  what  we  know  at  present  of  what 
are  so  oencrally  called  the  secrets  of  nature. '  Nature  has 
no  secivls.  She  does  everything  with  good-natured  open- 
ness. Her  work  is  done  in  the  bright  daylight,  developing 
liuht  and  noise,  and  is  accompanied  with  special  phenom- 
ena that  attract  attention  to  it.  It  is  our  fault,  or  rather 
our  weakness,  tluit  we  are  not  al)le  to  comprehend  what  is 
going  on  around  and  inside  us.  As  parents  converse  un- 
concernedly on  all  possible  subjects  in  the  presence  of  very 
young  children,  while  the  as  yet  undeveloped  brain  of  the 
smalfand  unheeded  auditors  is  not  capable  of  grasping  the 


7fi' 


A.   K'ETR<US.P£CX. 


sul)steiice  of  what  is  said,  and  mn  only  seize  a  few  single 
and  isolated  wortls,  nature  proceeds  with  all  her  tasks  in 
onr  presence,  and  we  look  on  with  the  uncomprehending 
ejes  of  children,  and  fail  to  understand,  only  noticing  here 
and  there  sotoe  touch,  some  frequently  repeated  moxo- 
ment  some  single  word,  without  even  faintly  sunnising 
what  it  all  means,  and  what  it  is  done  for.     The  rcader 
sees  that  I  do  not  overestimate  the  amount  of  our  knowl- 
edge of  nature's  processes.     But  e\'en  the  little  that  we 
have  learned  by  gazing  at  the  grand  ]\Iother— what  glo- 
rious faeulties  it  pwsupixjses  in  ns  human  beings !     We 
have  had  to  spend  hiiiKlreds,  thousands  of  jears,  strain  to 
the  utmost  our  keenness  of  ixjiveption,  onr  memory,  our  fac- 
ulty of  combining  single  facts  into  a  whole,  exert  our  ixiwers 
of  iniagination  to  the  farthest  limit,  cultivate  patience 
and  observation,  we  have  had  to  a\'oid  the  most  deceptive 
and  tempting  false  paths,  and  conquer  tlie  most  ol)stinate 
habits  of  thought,  before  we  could  attain  to  our  present 
standiM>int  in  our  knowledge  of  nature.     It  is  a  favorite 
lancy  of  mine  to  imagine  Pythagoras  visiting  the  scientific 
department  of  some  one  of  the  great  univei-sities  of  the 
tlay,  as  a  famous  foreign  scientist,  escorted  by  the  pro- 
fessore  in  charge.     I  picture  to  myself  the  trains  of 
thought  passing  through  his  mind,  and  the  alternations  of 
amazement,  reflection   and   admiration  expressed  by  his 
countenance  when  the  apparata  are  shown  and  explained 
to  him,  which  analyze  tlie  rays  of  the  sun  and  even  of  the 
nebuliB  to  the  chemical  nature  of  their  sources,  which  rc^is- 
ter  the  number  of  sound-waves  in  a  second,  and  determine 
the  number  and  extent  of  the  vibrations  of  a  raj  of  light, 
tiie  rapidity  with  which  the  electric  current  passes  through 
a  copper  or  silver  wire,  and  measure  the  amount  of  heat, 
which  becomes  free  or  is  retained  in  the  chemical  combi- 
nation or  separation  of  two  gases.    What  a  vast  horizon 


PYTHAGORAS   VISITLNCJ   OUR  INIVERSITIES.  79 

would  suddenly  open  before  him !     What  an  almost  divine 
enlargement  of  his  intellect  he  would  feel  in  himself !  And 
yet  this  grand  old  Greek  knew  so  much  in  his  day,  and 
had  already  conceived  the  idea  of  seeking  to  trace  the 
action  of  immutable,  simple  mathematical  laws  in  the  phe- 
nomena of  nature !     AVhat  vast  intelligence  was  required 
merely  to  surmise  that  the  air  we  breathe  is  composed  of 
several  elements,  that  water,  so  simple,  so  omnipresent,  and 
therefore  so  fomiliar  to  us  all,  and  certainly  for  thousands 
of  years  not  noticed  as  anything  remarkable,  consists  of  a 
combination  of  two  gases,  that  a  sound  is  in  reality  a  suc- 
cession of  waves,  a  single  color  several  thousands  or  mil- 
lions of  vibrations !     In  fact,  as  I  analyze  my  sentiments, 
I  find  that  these  wonderful  fiiets  in  natural  history  do  not 
inspire  me  with  such  amazement  as  the  impulse  within  us 
which  has  impelled  us  to  search  for  them.     Those  men  who 
devoted  years  of  study  and  investigation  to  the  uninterest- 
ing subject  of  water,  who,  proceeding  from  their  obseiTa- 
tion  that  heat  transformed  it  into  a  substance  like  air, 
propounded  the  query  whether  steam  itself  was  not  com- 
l)osed  of  more  elementary  steams  or  gases— those  men 
were  not  obtuse  nor  inattentive.     They  were  not  satisfied 
with  any  superficial  appearance.    They  wanted  to  see  down 
to  the  foundation  of  everything.     Or  those  men  who  de- 
voted their  time  to  something  so  common  as  an  impression 
on  the  sense  of  sight  or  hearing,  and  learned  to  recognize 
this  impression,  apparently  so  simple  and  indivisible,  as  a 
combination  of  several  elementary  constituent  parts,  were 
they  careless  ho,.s  vmints,  enjoying  life  from  day  to  day? 
No    those  men  were  moral.     They  were  profound  and 
grand.     They  did  not  seek  the  gratification  of  their  coarser 
and  coarsest  senses ;  they  sought  delights  for  the  noblest 
instincts  we  possess-the  longing  for  truth  and  knowledge. 
There  is  certainly  a  pleasure  in  the  discovery  of  a  new 


80 


A  RETROSPECT. 


triitli,  and  probtilily  a  f:n*  more  in  tense  one,  than  any 

merely  pliysiciil  grutifientioii  eaii  possibly  afford.  Arelii- 
medes'  ery  of  *•  Eureka  !  "  rin«4s  (  Uarer  tlirough  tiie  hisUiry 
of  hiimaiiiiy  than  the  raplurous  cry  of  any  lover  at  liis 
loved  one's  first  embrace,  and  Newton's  si>eeehless  hornir, 
when  his  dog,  by  upsetting  liis  lamp,  set  fire  to  tlic  mann- 
seript  eonfciining  his  most  important  caleulations,  was 
probal)ly  a  p:uig  as  full  of  anguish  as  those  experiencetl 
l)y  Mapoleon,  the  evening  of  Waterloo.  3Iost  assuredly  it 
is  a  pleasiire  very  diltercnt  from  the  one  produced  by  a 
good  supper,  or  even  a  8uccessi<  m  of  good  suppers  extend 
ing  to  one's  life's  end,  or  by  puniding  in  elegant  elotlies, 
or  the  flatiering  remarks  of  one's  neighliors  at  table,  sf> 
called  coufiuests,  and  success  in  society,  and  assuredly  thcM-e 
are  men,  to  whom  we  feel  like  kneeling,  tliose  men  who  <le- 
mantl  nothing  iMJtter  of  life  than  tiie  hope  of  discovering 
some  new  truth,  whose  highest  huppiucss  and  delight  is 
some  new  atkiinment  in  knowledge. 

Beyond  tlie  natural  philosophers,  the  astronomers, 
and  the  naturalists,  the  philosophers  rose  licfore  my  sl'^vly 
moving  eye.  Fechner,  Lange,  Wundt,  Zeller,  L:iziirus, 
Spenecr,  Bain,  Mill,  Hi  hot,  I  read  in  snecession  on  the 
I  jacks  of  those  books  especially  dear  to  in.e.  Like  a  scene 
from  M:iclK!th,  helmeted  lieads  and  crowned  figures  ap- 
Ijeai-dl  bef*»re  me, — a  long  procession  of  kings  enici-ged 
from  obscurity,  and  filed  lmi)osingly  past  me,  a  greet  lug  in 
the  slight  inclination  of  each  mighty  head,  kindliness  in 
their  friendly  eyes.  And  differently  from  Jlaclieth  with 
the  witches,  1  flid  not  feel  horrified  at  this  sight,  but  expe- 
rienced an  indescri]>alile  sense  of  exaltation.  For  tliese 
kings,  tliese  conquerors  of  liroad  intellectual  tloraains, 
these  victorione  commanders  in  ehief  in  the  warfare 
against  powerfid  errors,  were  not  enemies,  but  my  own  dis- 
tinguished ancestors,  to  be  related  to  whom^howe\er  dls- 


OUR   MiailTY    ANCESTORS. 


81 


tant  the  relationship— and  to  be  descended  from  whom— 
in  lu)wever  remote  a  degree— is  a  source  of  incomparable 
pride  and  exultation.  And  this  descent,  this  relationshii). 
can  not  be  denied.  All  of  us  wlio  have  any  share  in  the 
civilizationof  the  age  belong  to  the  family  of  these  intel- 
lectual sovereigns,  although  perhaps  only  as  younger  sons, 
without  any  expectation  of  ever  succeeding  to  the  more 
exalted  positions.  We  all  bear  a  family  reseml)lance  to 
tlie  illustrious  heads  on  coins  and  medals.  We  can  prove 
the  possession  of  family  jewels— ideas  and  conceptions— 
which  we  have  inherited  from  these  ancestors.  They 
toiled  for  ns  like  giants,  and  we  are  now  living  amid  cer- 
tain possessions  in  tlic  way  of  knowledge,  whose  ac(iuisi- 
tion  was  a  far  more  wonderful  task  than  all  tlie  twelve 
hd»ors  of  Hercules  coml)ined. 

1  repeatcul  what  has  been  done  so  often  l)efore  me, 
that  it  has  almost  become  commonplace  :  inspired  by  the 
sight  of  Lubbock's  History  of  Man,  T  passed  in  review  in 
my  mind  the  whole  development  of  our  race  from  its  first 
api)earanee  upon  the  earth  to  the  present  day.     What  an 
ascent!     What   a   succession   of   glorious   and   elevating 
scenes!     Those  human   beings   whose   kitchen   refuse  is 
found  in  the  moors  of  Denmark,  and  those  whose  skulls 
are  discovered  in  the  valley  of  the  Neander,  at-Cro-Magnon 
and  at  Solutre,  did  not  stand  much  higher  than  the  more 
gifted  animals— perhaps  not  so  high  as  the  trained  poodle, 
which  Sir  John  Lublux'k  is  now  teaching  to  read;  cer- 
tainly below  the  Terra  del  Fuegans,  the  Bushmen,  or  any 
other  living  type  of  human  beings.    They  were  not  so  well 
protected  against  the  cold  and  the  wet  as  the  naked  angle 
worm,  whidi  can  at  least  l)ore  its  way  quickly  and  easily 
into  the  ground.     They  were  weaker  than  the  great  beasts 
of  prry,  slower  than  the  hoofed  (|ua(lrupeds,  and  more  de- 
fenceless than  the  horned  animals.     Where  they  could  not 


A   R,ETR.OSFKf'T. 

fiiiil  fruits  on  the  trees,  they  lingered  on  the  sea-eoast,  and 
wsiited  until  the  reeeding  tide  left  theni  all  kinds  of  shell- 
fish on  the  betiek  for  their  focMi  But  in  these  wretched 
creatwres  there  lived  a  certain  soiuething  that  made  them 
the  pride  of  tlie  earth.  They  were  the  only  ones  in  the  long 
series  of  living  lieings  known  to  ns  who  di<l  not  calmly 
accept  their  fate,  lint  took  up  arms  against  the  conditions  of 
existence  imposed  uiwn  them  hy  nature.  They  were  naked? 
They  procured  coverings  for  themselves  from  the  mythical 
fi*/  leaf  to  the  silk  and  satin  robes  of  the  fasliioniible 
costniners  of  the  metroiiolis,  which  are  described  as  works 
of  art  by  even  serious  people.  Tl»e  rain  annoyed  them? 
They  liuilt  a  shelter  for  tliemselves  from  the  nest  of 
interwoven  branches  in  the  tree  to  the  dome  of  Michael 
AngehVs  St.  Peters,  and  found  time  in  between  whiles  fin- 
such  jokes  as  the  umbrella,  tlie  Panama  hat  and  its  carica- 
tOK\  the  unilresa  cap.  Tliey  did  not  lun  fast  enough? 
They  irst  In-oke  the  h(»rse  to  liarness  and  finally  attained  to 
the  Lightning  Express,  amusing  tlieir  minds  on  tlie  way 
l»y  inventing  the  cal),  tlie  liicycle.  and  the  hoi-se  car. 
Were  they  weaker  than  the  large  animals?  Krnpp  and 
Whiteliead  live  to  prove  that  they  n(HH\  no  longer  fear  any 
enemy.  Never  standing  still  a  monuMit,  constantly  press- 
in<y  forward,  they  kept  advancing  farther  and  farther, 
higher  and  higlier,  from  weaving  strips  of  l»ark  to  the 
steam  power  loom,  and  from  the  stone  hatchet  to  the  elec- 
tric accumulator.  Each  generation  has  toiled  in  turn  at 
this  task,  each  one  without  exception.  We  read  and  hear 
sometimes  tliat  tlie  liumau  race  has  forgotten  all  sorts  of 
imi)ortant  inventions ;  that  certain  arts  and  natural  forces 
were  known  to  the  ancient  Egyptians,  Indians  and  Jews, 
which  are  either  entirely  lost  to  ns,  or  which  we  have  been 
obliged  to  disc  (»\  <m-  luiew  aftc*r  centuries  of  disuse.  This  is 
improlKiiac  in  the  highest  dc«iiHH'.     Such  a  supposition  is 


RETROGRESSION   IMPOSSIBLE   TO   HUMANITY. 


83 


the  production  of  that  same  mysticism  which  has  beguiled 
mankind  into  the  wide-spread  delusion  of  the  "  good  old 
times,"  and  the  "Golden  Age"  in  the  past.     It  is  not  true 
that  there  are  periods  of  retrogression,  or  even  stationary 
periods,  in  the  history  of  mankind.     The  assertion  contra- 
dictory  to  this  is  based  u^>on  inaccurate  observation  and 
partiality.     In  Yucatan,  the  ruins  of  grand  temples  reveal- 
ing a   highly   cultii^^ted   knowledge   of   architecture   are 
found  in  the  primeval  forests,  while  the  present  inhab- 
itants of  the  country  dwell  in  cabins  made  of  branches. 
In  Central  Asia  the  nomadic  tribes,  whose  only  shelters 
are  tents  of  rugs,  wander  through  the  ruins  of  extensive 
cities,  with  stone  palaces,  irrigating  canals,  statuary  and 
inscriptions.     In  Egypt  the  pyramids  and  the  gate  towers 
look   down   upon   the   mud   cabins   of  the  Fellahin.     It 
seems  as  if  the  first  half  of  the  Middle   Ages  had  been 
nothing  lint  tlie  decline  of  the  ancient  Graeco-Iloman  civili- 
zation.^ I  do  not  at  all  forget  to  take  tliis  into  account. 
But  what  is  it  we  notice  in  each  one  of  tlie  cases  cited 
above?     Merely  this,  that  mankind,  for  a  while  had  tor- 
gotten  those  cravings  for  luxuries  and  how  to  satisfy  them. 
The  Beautiful,  the  Superfluous  could  be  forgotten,  but  the 
Necessary,  the  Useful,  never.     Men  might  lose  their  skill 
in  embroidering  their  clothes,  but  never  that'of  clothing 
thenis(^lves,  after  they  had  once  acquired  it.     They  might 
cease  to  shingle  their  roofs  with  plates  of  gold,  but  they 
would  never  cease  having  a  shelter.     The  essential  facts  of 
knowledge,  that  is,  those  destined  to  assist  man's  Inherent 
helplessness  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  nature,  that  is,  those 
which  render  the  preservation  of  self  less  difficult,  these 
facts  lie  has  never  forgotten.     It  has  happened  that  bar- 
barous trilies  have  invaded  and  destroyed  states  which  had 
become  enervated  and  corrupt  by  a  high  state  of  civiliza- 
tion.    Then  comes  the  cry  of  retrogression  and  return  to 


A   RETEOSPECT. 


barlMrisin.  xill  wfoiig.  The  triumphant  barbarians  were 
never  stationary  in  these  eases.  They  eontinned  develop- 
ing  by  their  own  energy,  or  by  learnhig  from  the  eonciuered 
peoples.  And  that  tliese  latter  did  retrograde,  was  not  te- 
cauae  their  iinpnlse  to  progress  liad  iMXiorae  stotionary,  but 
bccanse  they  were  foreibly  prevented  from  continuing  to 
live  in  their  ohl  ludiits  by  their  new  masters.  I  will  be- 
lieve in  the  possil)ility  of  a  retrogression  of  mankind,  if  a 
single  ease  in  the  history  of  the  world,  even  one  single  in- 
stance, can  Iw  pointed  out  to  me  where  a  jK^ople— not 
forced  into  it  by  some  external,  irresistible  compulsion, 
but  still  living  in  the  same  surroundings  and  eircnmst-anees 
as  of  old — has  ever  declined  from  n  state  of  civilization 
once  attained  to  a  lower  state,  rapidly  or  even  gradually. 
I  have  sought  in  vain  f<n-  sucli  an  instince. 

Material  pi-ogress  1  know  does  not  inspire  any  respect 
in  the  minds  of  confu-med  scorners  of  the  human  race. 
What  does  it  prove,  they  say,  that  we  now  communicate  by 
means  of  the  telephone  and  ti'legraph,  or  that  we  shoot 
with  repeating  firearms  and  no  longer  with  an'ows?  In- 
ventions, however  Ijeautiful  and  nsefnl  tliey  may  be,  do  not 
owe  their  origin  to  tlie  g<xwlness  nor  even  to  the  special 
intelligence  of  man.  They  can  l)e  usually  traced  t  o  some  a^ 
cidental  origin,  and  the  perfecting  of  them  is  almost  always 
cloe  to  the  operation  of  the  basest  impulses.  The  man 
who  first  constructed  the  steam  engine  did  not  think  of 
lightening  the  toil  of  wretched  burden-bearers  and  wheel- 
drivers,  but  only  of  enriching  himself  and  winning  fame. 
Ho  inventor  was  ever  content  witli  the  knowledge  tliat  he 
had  renderetl  a  service  to  mankind.  He  always  sets 
ea«'erl3'  to  work  to  procure  patents  which  impose  ollen 
(pilte  a  heavy  tax  on  the  beloved  human  race  liefore  it  can 
cnijo>  the  new  convenience.  He  yells  as  if  his  teeth  were 
Iteiuir  pulled  when  he  thinks  be  Is  inadecinalely  honored, 


THE   BEArnES   OF   TNWRITTEN   HISTORY. 

appreciated,  or  insufficiently  paid.     So  railroads  and  labor- 
saving  machines  are  by  no  means  arguments  to  refute 

the  meanness  of  men.  .  _ 

I  will  not  stop  to  reply  to  these  assertions  m  detail 
I  will  only  say,  how  grand  has  been  the  intellcctnal.m< 
moral  as  well  as  the  material  progress  of  mankind  .    W  hat 
an  a-.reijate  of  nobility  of  character,  tidelity  to  convic- 
tion;:;nd  sublimity  of  purpose  is  the  history  of  our  rac^ ! 
To  be  sure,  if  we  cIiooscn  wc  need  see  nothing  in  it  but  a 
scries  of  dovastatin-  wars,  brutal  piUagcv  intrigues,  lies, 
umust  aelions  aiul  deeds  of  violence.     But  it  is  not  the 
fault  of  the  human  racc^  in  general  that  the  wntei^  of  his- 
tory have  prefc^Tcd  to  depict  the  hideous  and  cnnnnal  side 
c.r  ■,venls.     There  is  a  l)eautiful  side  as  well ;  we  have 
only  to  seek  Ibr  it     In  the  most  revolting  carnage  ot  a 
UatUe,  there  are  always  glorious  traits  of  unsellislmess^  seH- 
sacrilice,  and  benevolence  displayed.     Even  in  die  si  uig  ^ 
tcr  of  the  innocents  at  Bethlehem  there  w(.-e  probal)^ 
srnne  mothers  who  found  in  it  an  opportunity  to  lavish  all 
the  treasures  of  a  maternal  heart,  loving  with  the  utter  for- 
...fulness  of  sell;  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  even  on  the 
oye  of  St.   Bartholomew  there  were  not  lacking  deeds  o 
touching  loyalty  and   glorious   heroism.     The   naines  o^ 
those  who  Ibu^ht  aiKl  bled  Ibr  what  they  recognizecl  as  tiiah 
shine  forth  from  every  page  of  the  history  ol  the  world. 
Blood  was  shed,  noV>le,  generous  blood,  often  in^« 
at  every  acquisition,  at  every  onward  stride  of  the  world  s 
pro..ress.     And  those  who  otfered  it,  so  magnammousl^ , 
wh.:;  reward  did   they   expect?     Evidently   no  material 
reward,  for  how  could  all  the  millions  in  the  Bank  of  Eng- 
h.nd  benefit  me,  if  the  communication  between  my  mout^i 
,nd  mv  stomach  had  been  interrupted  by  my  throats  ha^- 
ingbeen  cut  in  two.     And  not  even  a  moral  rc.vard  not 
even  fame,  that  continued  life  in  tlie  memory  ot  mankind, 


,  f 


IIIR 


A   BF.TROSFKCT. 

for  iniiii}-  ilectls  of  lieroisui  occur  in  obscurity,  unobserved 
by  lofniaeious  witnesses,  seen  only  by  tlie  hero's  inward  eye 
whicli  elosed  for  ever  when  the  sacrifice  was  completed. 
Tlie  advance  guard  of  ilie  anny  of  thouglit  never  fought 
for  tlieir  own  niatcri::!  ndwintage,  lint  for  the  possession  of 
a  treasure  so  fine  niid  noble  that  it  rc«inn'cs  a  superior 
miiid  to  even  appreciate  it — for  the  right  to  breathe  in  an 
fitinosphere  of  truth,  to  In-ing  tlieir  actions  into  harmony 
with  tlieir  views,  to  utter  aloud  the  lightest  whisper  in 
Iheir  inmost  soid,  and  allow  all  men  to  share  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  some  lieneficient  discover}'. 

T  need  not  refer  to  the  martyrs,  as  a  tragic  instance. 
The  beauly  of  lumiiuiily  was  not  revealed  amid  the  flames 
at  the  stake,  and  on  the  stage  of  the  bloody  scaffold  alone, 
it  manifests  itself  more  mo«lcstly,  but  just  as  visibly,  at  all 
times,  at  all  places,  and  among  us  now.  Our  evtMy-da}- 
life  is  intei-woven  and  penetrated  with  it.  Our  ci\'ilization 
bears  its  features  in  tlie  smallest  as  well  as  in  the  largest 
details.  For  example,  let  us  imagine  the  sentiments 
which  have  preceded  the  decision  to  found  a  hospital, 
where  poor  people  will  be  taken  care  of  during  tlieir  ill- 
ness !  Or  a  loaning  estalilisliment,  where  money  is  loaned 
to  tliose  in  need  at  a  low  rate  of  interest !  Those  who  in- 
vented tlicse  institutions  were  rich,  as  a  rule,  living  and 
dying  in  Iuxuit,  without  aiiv  |K»rsonul  experience  of  cruel 
necessitv  and  misery.  We  could  not  liave  reproached 
them  if  their  minds  Iiad  l>een  occ^npied  with  the  familiar 
scenes  of  a  luxurious  existence  alone,  if  there  had  been  no 
iw)m  in  them  for  scenes  of  poverty  which  they  had  never 
seen.  But  the}'  came  out  of  themselves.  They  went  forth 
le  nuest  of  what  was  outside  their  own  exi>erience.  They 
took  the  trouble  to  imagine  tli©  sufferings  of  others.  Sit- 
ting as  rieli  men  at  their  table,  they  in(|uire(l  of  each 
other  what  the  seiitimeiits  of  Lazarus,  outside  the  gate. 


TTTE    ANTT-VTVTSECTTONTSTS. 


87 


might  be,  and  playing  with  gold  pieces,  they  imagined  how 
it  would  seem  not  to  have  pennies  to  buy  bread  for  their 
little  ones.     Is  this  not  tine,  is  it  not  unselfish?     Perhaps 
tlie  thought  of  possible  contingencies  may  have  had  some 
share  in  It.     The  first  person  who  cared  for  the  sick  and 
tlie  poor  may  have  lieen  unconsciously  influenced  by  the 
idea  :  "  I  miglit  some  day  lie  poor  and  sick  myself,  and  then 
the  hospitaror  the  lending  house  would  be  a  benefit  to  me 
as  w(Ml.  "    But  surely  no  one  has  ever  thought,  at  least  in 
Europe  where  the  doctrine  of  the  transmigration  of  souls  is  • 
but  little  believed.-  that  lie  would  ever  be  a  dog  or  a  horse, 
and  yet  societies  to  protect  and  care  for  homeless  dogs 
have  been  founded,  and  the  royal  mantle  of  human  charity 
thrown  over  the  unreasoning  animal.    I  respect  this  benev 
olence  which  even  includes  the  sufferings  of  animals  in  its 
sphere  of  action,  even  when  it  appears  in  the  anti-vivisec- 
tion movement.     Those  people  who  originated  it  are,  to  be 
sure,  hopeless  imbeciles,  as  regards  their  intellects,  pro 
claimincr  l)y  it  such  an  utter  lack  of  comprehension  and 
reason  'that  they  ought  to  l)e  unconditionally  deprived  of 
tlie  right  of  discussing  the  atfairs  of  the  state  and  the  com- 
munity, and  even  of  managing  their  own  property.     But, 
as  re<iards  their   sentiments,  nothing  can  be  insinuated 
a-ainit  them.     They  have  a  heart  for  the  sufferings  which 
they  see  or  can  imagine.    They  act  from  unselfish,  although 

idiotic  sympathy. 

Thus  we  are  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  sublime  and 
affecting  manifestations  of  the  virtues  of  humanity.  Thus 
all  things  proclaim  man's  grand  and  noble  qualities  to  us  : 
every  invention,  his  ingenious  mind  and  his  skillfulness ; 
everv  science,  his  faculty  of  patient  observation  and  his 
earnest  longing  for  truth;  every  event  in  ethical  history, 
his  unselfish  goodness  of  heart  and  his  charitable  concern 
for  his  fellow-beinss.     The  number  of  the  mighty  intellects 


f  ^^ 


80 
o 


A    ■EETEOSPErT. 


fliwl  noble  liearts  tluit  liiive  lived  before  iis,  or  arc*  living 
with  ns  is  lieyond  all  eoinpntrition.  tuul  the  entire  sul)- 
stance  of  our  existenee,  of  all  our  tlioughts  and  of  all  our 
sentiments,  as  well  as  all  our  conveniences  in  daily  life, 
cionsists  of  tlie  fruits  of  their  laliors. 

The  devil's  agent  never  loses  his  rights.  He  cheeked 
the  exalted  fliglit  of  mj  entlnisiasin  upon  the  sultject  of 
humanity  l)y  remarking  with  a  grin :  Quite  correct.  There 
liave  always  been  great  men,  and  iK»rhai)s  there  always  will 
!».  But  are  they  not  tlie  rare  exceptions?  Is  the  average 
nnyorit}'  any  less  despicable  and  common  on  this  account? 
Are  not  tlie  former  always  [Xirsecnted  and  tormented  by 
the  latter?  John  lluss,  Arnold  von  Brescia  were  each  of 
tins  kind ;  the  crowds  that  stood  around  their  stakes  and 
saw  them  roast  for  tlieir  edification,  were  numliered  by 
thousands.  Galileo  was  one  of  them ;  tlie  cardinals  who 
forced  him  to  retnict  In*  threats  of  torture*,  were  numbered 
b}'  dozens.  Tlie  progress  of  humanity  seems  to  yon  like 
an  uninterrupted  forward  march,  with  a  broad  line  of  front, 
antl  heav}'  battalions.  This  is  one  view  of  it.  I  have  a 
different  one :  1  see  it  like  a  long  line  of  animal-tamei*s 
wlio  want  to  instil  gentle  manners  into  a  cowardly  and 
lilood-thiraty  lieast.  The  horrid  creature  thinks  of  nothing 
lint  destroying  its  masters,  and  it  is  oid}'  withheld  from 
doing  this  by  tlie  whip  and  the  pistol,  and  its  own  stupid- 
ity and  baseiK^ss.  It  is  of  course  superfluous  to  add  that 
the  lieast  is  mankind  and  the  tamei-s,  the  great  mhids  of 
all  agea 

This  s|Mjecli  from  ni}-  inwanl  voice  awoke  again  for  a 
moment  all  tlie  sensations  of  disgust  wliicli  I  had  l>rought 
home  from  tlie  i»arty  I  had  attended.  I  was  on  the  point 
of  acknowledging  that  the  devil's  agent  was  right.  But 
there  was  the  microsciope,  the  illustrious  names  were  still 
shining  on  the  backs  of  the  lKM>k8 ! — No,  he  wtis  not  right. 


THE    SUBLIME    ATTRIIUTTES    OF    Hr.MANlTY. 


89 


It  is  an  oratorical  device  it)  separate  mankind  into  a  vast 
llock  and  a  few  shepherds.     It  is  false,  this  trying  to  rcpn- 
sent  the  select  few  as  the  only  impelling  force,  the  masses  as 
the  i)erpetual  himlrance.    I  shared  in  this  error,  myself,  for 
a  long  while,  I  must  confess.    I  believed  that  all  Caucasian 
humanity  might  be  thrown  back  to  the  standpoint  of  the 
Middle  Ages  or  even  farther  back  still,  by  decapitating  ten 
thousand  selected  contemporaries,  the  only  real  upholdcis 
of  our  civilization.     I  do  not  believe  this  any  longer.     The; 
sublime  attributes  of  humanity  are  not  the  exclusive  pos- 
session of  a  few,  who  are  the  exceptions.     Tliey  arc  the 
fundamental     attributes     which    are     evenly     distribute 
throughout  the  entire  mass  of  the  race,  like  tlie  organs  and 
tissues,  like  the  blood,  the  cerebral  matter  and  the  bones. 
Of  course  a  few  have  more  than  others,  but  all  have  some. 
It  is  a  pity  that  the  experiment  can  not  l)e  tried  in  reality  ! 
but,  theoretically,   I  can  imagine  a  number  of  the  uKj^st 
ordinary,  average    men,   without  any  special    intellectual 
training,  without  any  professional  knowledge  of  anything, 
men  with  no  more  comprehension  of  any  subject  than  is 
obtained  from  superiicially  glancing  over  the  articles  in  the 
newspapers,  and  listening  to  the  conversation  in  saloons; 
1  can  imagine  a  number  of  these  men  shipwrecked  on  a 
desert  island  and  thrown  altogether  upon  their,  own  re- 
yyiu-ees,— what  would  be  the  fate  of  these  Crusoes?    At 
first  they  Avould  be  worse  off  than  the  savages  of  the  South 
Sea  Islands,  never  having  learned  how  to  make  use  of  tlieir 
natural  talents.     They  would  not  km)W  that  it  is  possible 
to  cat  without  being  served  by  a  waiter,  or  that  food  is  to 
be  found  outside  of  the  markets,  or  that  the  needed  hard- 
ware can  be  procured  in  other  ways  than  1)}'  repairing  to 
the  store.     But  this  state  of  aflfiiirs  would  not  last  long. 
They  would  soon  learn  how  to  help  themselves.     The}' 
would  first  make  discoveries  in  themselves,  and  then  pro- 


V 


m 


A   RETROSPECT. 


LATENT   POSSIBILITIES. 


91 


i i 


eeed  to  imixirtaiit  inventions.  It  wonld  soon  become 
:il>[)iireiit  lluit  a  greid  nieclmniciil  talent  was  latent  in  some 
«>ne  of  them,  a  talent  for  philosophy  in  another,  for  organi- 
zation in  a  third  In  the  evolntion  of  their  exi>erienee 
they  would  reiM?at  the  whole  histor}'  of  the  development  of 
mankind,  in  the  course  (»f  one  or  two  generations.  They 
would  all  of  them  have  seen  a  steam  engine,  l)ut  none 
would  know  exactly  liow  it  was  constructed,  and  yet  by  the 
study  and  i-eflection  of  each,  the>-  woidd  soon  find  it  out 
imd  make  one  for  themselves.  They  would  all  of  tliem 
lune  lieard  guni)owder  described,  and  jet  none  would  know 
exactly  the  proiX)itions  in  which  the  ingredients  are  com- 
bined ;  and  yet,  notwithstanding  this,  they  would  soon  iin)- 
duce  serviceable  gunpowder.  And  in  the  same  way  with 
fdl  appliances,  arts  and  sciences.  Tliose  men  who  at  homt? 
would  have  been  considered  the  most  ordinary  set  of  indi- 
viduals, would  prove  in  reality  to  be  all  Newtons,  Watts\ 
Helmholtzes,  Graham  Bells,  etc.  Tlie  opi>ortunity  for  de- 
veloping, which  the  desert  island  afforded  them,  had  ne\  er 
arrived  in  the  midst  of  our  civilization.  Civilized  life 
required  nothing  more  of  them  than  gossip  and  stupidity, 
and  more  or  leas  cash.  With  the  latter  they  lx)ught  what- 
ever they  wanted  and  could  not  obtain  on  credit,  and  gos- 
sip and  stupidity  they  supplied  abundantly  at  all  times. 
Necessity  recjuired  earnestness,  profound  reflection  and 
inventioos  of  them,  and  behold  !  they  supplied  them  when- 
ever needed,  and  in  a  sufficient  quantity  to  have  made 
them  men  of  mark  in  any  large  city  of  Europe.  It  has 
long  been  a  familiar  saying  that  we  become  l)est  acquainted 
with  men  in  cami>life  or  on  a  journey.  Why?  Because 
there  they  do  not  slide  along  in  the  accustomed  grooves,  be- 
cause they  have  to  manifest  all  the  intelligence  they  havt;  in 
their  inmost  teing  to  meet  the  (emergencies  that  arise,  and 
because,  as  a  rule,  tliis  coini)ulsiou  forces  them  to  reveal 


qualities  whose  existence  in  them  no  one  would  ever  have 
suspected.  I  am  almost  ready  to  ])elieve  that  every  nor- 
mally developed  man  has  in  him  tlie  talent  for  a  great  pro- 
moter of  civilization.  He  has  only  to  be  compelled  to 
become  one.  Just  as  the  top  l)ranches  of  a  tree  can  be 
turned  into  roots,  if  the  tree  is  planted  up  side  down  in  the 
ground,  and  the  leaf-iii'own  l)ranches  compelled  to  iml)ibe 
the'r  noiiri^^hiiieiit  from  the  soil. 

Mv  soiree  now  oreseiited  itself  to  me  in  a  very  diti'er- 
cnt  liiiht.  I  no  louirer  saw  silly  girls  and  fops,  egotists 
and  blockheads,  commonness  and  vanity,  l)ut  only  un- 
reeoLniized  talents.  Brutuses  feigning  idiocy,  great  men 
who  would  l)e  able  to  restore  the  whole  of  our  civilization, 
present  and  lo  come  if  li  should  happen  to  be  destio3ed 
l)y  anv  uossioie  cause.  A  profound  love  and  admiration 
for  all  humanliv  filled  mv  heart  and  lasted,  until  I— next 
came  in  contact  with  my  fellow-men. 


THE    ULTlMxiTE    AIM    OP   EDUCATION. 


93 


o  U  i^Lj.ll#oo« 


Wluit  is  the  iiltimule  aim  (.C ((lucutioii.  (»f  nil  teaching 
iiiid  of  all  tniiiiiHg?     Evidently  to  make  lile^  jaoiv  agreea- 
ble l>y  deei)eirni<:,  eiiriehiiij^  and  heautifyingr  it     There  can 
lie  Init  one  opinion  on  thi.s  point.     Those  insti-netors  of 
youth  \v!h.  Mi)i)arently  interpret  the  purijosi-  of  edneation 
otherwise,  simply  do  not  ^'o  so  far  as  its  extremest  aim, 
hut  sloi)  <»n  the  way.     Thus  whei;  it  is  said  that  education 
is  for  the  purp(»se  of  forming  the  eharaeter.     What  does 
this  seiiienee  mean  if  we  analyze  it?     The  eharaeter  is 
foriiied-not  for  the  sake  of  its  own  beanty,  nor  to  delight 
the  e\  es  of  a  few  eonnoissenrs,  as  a  bronze  statnette  is  east 
and  ehascd,  Init  with  a  view  to  applying  it  to  some  ijrac- 
tieid  advantage.     A  fine  eharaeter— that  is,  decision   in 
resolution,  iKH'scverance  in  performance,  inflexibility  in  the 
convictions,  loyalty  in  the  affections,  and  fearlessness  in 
the  inevitable  confliets— is  considered  a  good  weapon  »>f 
offence  and  defence  in  tlie  struggle  for  existence.     It  is 
assumed  that  it  greatly  facilitates  the  victory  over  one's 
rivals  and  adxersaries,  or—if  the  gods  choose  to  aH(»w  an 
unrighteous  cause  to  triumph  and  the  righteous  cause  has 
to  console  itself  for  defeat  with  Cato's  approbation  —that 
it  will  afford  to  the  eon(|uered  i)arty  the  satisfaction  of  feel- 
ing rewarded  by  and  proud  of  those  very  qualities  which 
led  to  his  defeat.     Or  if  it  is  claimed  that  the  aim  of  educa- 
tion is  to  cultivate  the  intellect,  strengthen  the  will,  and 
develope  a  toste  for  the  good  ami  the  beautiful, . .  .AVhat 


is  the  use  of  all  this?  The  intellect  is  cultivated  to  enable 
it  to  comprehend  the  phenomena  of  nature  and  society,  to 
have  the  satisfaction  of  understanding  the  nature  and  the 
cause  of  many  things— at  least  up  to  a  certain  point,  and 
to  learn  to  avoid  dangers  and  profit  l)y  ad^'antages.  The 
will  is  strengthened  to  enable  it  to  keep  everything  harm- 
ful away  from  the  individual.  The  taste  for  the  good  an<l 
the  beautitid  is  developed  to  enable  it  to  produce  pleasing 
impressions  upon  the  consciousness.  What  is  the  object 
to  be  accomplished  by  all  this?  Simply  to  make  existence 
more  agrcealile  to  the  individual. 

Now  then,  does  the  school  in  the  way  in  which  it  is 
conducted  at  present  and  with  its  present  systems  of  study, 
does  it  accomplish  this  purpose?  I  deny  it.  Almost  all 
men  are  striving  towards  one  single  end— external  success 
iu  the  w(n-ld.  Without  this  success  it  is  imi)ossible  for 
life  to  contain  any  pleasures  for  them.  When  any  one 
promises  to  make  existence  more  agreeable  for  them,  they 
understand  l)y  this  merely  that  success  is  to  be  made 
easier  and  more  certain  for  them.  If  this  preconception  is 
not  realized,  they  feel  that  they  have  been  cheated  and  de- 
ceived. This  is  the  point  of  view  of  999  men  out  of  a 
thousand.  And  perhaps  in  reality  the  number  of  those 
who  recpiire  am  thing  more  Irom  life  than  external  success, 
is  even  less  than  I  have  assumed.  The  school,  however, 
trains  for  anything  else  rather  than  success— that  single 
source  of  happiness  and  satisfaction  to  an  overwhelmingly 

large  majority. 

The  ideals  of  a  modern  education  arc  entirely  sepa- 
rate from  those  of  life— they  are  even  directly  opposed  to 
them.  The  whole  of  the  present  system  of  teaching  and 
training  seems  to  have  been  invented  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  educating  men  who  soon  come  to  despise  mankind  and 
the  world  in  the  whirl  of  real  life,  and  withdraw  fall  of  dis- 


i 


giist,  fiTmi  ilie  struggle  for  the  prizes  in  iwlitieiil  mid 
sfwial  life,  to  seek  seehisioii  in  a  calm  and  chaste  eoiit<3ni- 
platloii  of  self,  and  absorption  in  sublime  visions ;  in  short, 
those  who,  without  resistance  to  the  vulgar,  are  expected 
to  i>eaceablj  resign  their  place  at  the  feast  of  life.  This 
is  the  secret  of  the  whole  matter.  It  seems  as  if  schools 
and  colleges  had  been  devised  by  some  shrewd  individuals 
who  wanted  U)  secure  the  best  morsels  for  themselves  and 
theire,  and  spoil  in  advance  the  apiMitite  of  those  sound, 
lively  stomachs  whose  future  hunger  might  be  dangerous 
to  them.  It  seems  m  if  the  teachers  saw  rivals  growing 
up  around  them  in  their  pupils,  and  tried  to  make  them 
harmless  from  the  start,  by  cutting  their  nails,  filing  their 
ti'cih,  and  tying  lilue  goggles  in  front  of  their  sharply  oI^ 
si'r^  iug  eyes.  The  school  prepares  us  for  the  struggle  for 
existence  in  exactly  the  same  way  as  if  a  book  of  military 
tactics  should  prepare  the  soldier  for  war,  by  instructing 
him  that  he  has  weapons  merely  to  leave  them  at  home ; 
that  lie  must  be  careful  to  retrain  from  answering  the 
enemy%  shooting  with  any  firing  in  return ;  that  he  must 
relinquish  to  the  enemy  all  the  good  ix>sitions  he  may  have 
at  his  command,  and  that,  more  than  all  else,  it  is  far 
more  glorious  to  be  defeated  than  to  be  victorious.  Many 
l>eople  would  consider  such  a  manual  of  tactics  nothing 
but  nonsense ;  but  the  enemy  indeed,  would  be  very  much 
pleased  with  it. 

The  success  to  which  I  refer  here,  can  also  be  differ- 
ently described  in  a  few  words.  It  signifies  to  gain  the 
respect  of  the  majority.  This  aim,  it  is  true,  can  lie 
reached  in  many  ways.  We  gain  the  resi>ect  of  the 
majority  if  we  have  great  wealth,  or  act  as  if  we  had ;  if 
we  can  present  our  name  like  a  jewel  in  a  precious  setting 
of  titles;  if  we  can  make  our  breast  shine  with  the  bright 
colors  of  riltbons  and  crosses ;  if  we  have  power  and  influ- 


ij^aaUfcJ 


THE   DEFINITION    OF    SUCCESS. 


95 


ence  ;  if  we  are  able  to  force  the  town  or  the  country  to  the 
conviction  that  we  are  great,  or  wise,  or  learned,  or  honor- 
able to  an  exceptional  degree.     The  practical  advantages 
gained  in  return  by  the  one  respected  are  also  of  many 
kinds.     They  are  material  or  moral,  or  both  at  the  same 
time,  generally  with  a  preponderance  of  one  or  the  other 
element.     The  masses  have  the  good  habit  of  manifesting 
their  appreciation  in  the  form  of  ready  money.     Tlie  poi)- 
ular  physician  has  many  patients  and  receives  magnificent 
fees.    The  popular  author  sells  his  books  in  many  editions. 
If  a  man  is  successful,  he  will  thus  earn  large  sums  of 
money,  and  be  able  to  obtain  for  himself  all  the  pleasures 
that  are  to  be  had  for  lucre  in  this  vale  of  tears.  One  of  these 
successful  men  will  devote  himself  to  pheasants  and  trutlles, 
another  to  chami)agne  and  Johannisberger,  a  third  to  ballet- 
dancers,  and  some  odd  fellow  perhaps,  even  to  the  relief  of 
the  desei-ving  poor.    It  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  follow  the 
devious  pathways  of  individual  preferences.     The  moral 
advantages  of  success  are  of  another  kind,  and  although 
nothing  can  be  bought  with  them,  as  the  popular  saying 
goes,  yet  they  have  a  high  value  for  most  people  notwith- 
standing.    And   what  a  strange   contradiction   is  human 
nature  T   The  grocer  will  not  give  a  single  box  of  ground 
pepper  for  these  moral  advantages,  not  even  when  it  is  adul- 
terated with  olive  stones,  but  he  will  make  the  greatest 
sacrifices  of  time,  patience,  eager  exertions,  and  e\'en  of 
money,   his  dear,  blessed  money,   for   them.     They  are: 
deferential  salutations  on  the  street,  having  the  newspapers 
mention  us  from  time  to  time,  and,  in  marked  instances, 
accompanied   by   flattering    adjectives.      In    the   various 
classes  of  society  and  professions  they  assume  different 
forms.     Royal  notice  at  a  court  ball ;  the  <lisi)lay  of  one's 
photograph  in  the  shop  windows;   obligatory  calls  from 
traveling  foreigners;   being  importuned  tor  loans  by  oflS- 


m 


Kl,„  C*C.ESS, 


doiis  unkuowiis;  a  tUtjliniui  of  lioiioraij  citizenship;  the 

cleferciice  of  the  waitew  in  Iht!  principal  eating  and  drink- 
ing rooms;  recjiiesis  to  cootribwte  to  the  monmnent  to 
iamous  soap  manufaetiirers ;  flattering  invitations  to  din- 
ner and  tea  in  elegant  lionses,— tliese  are  a  few  exanii»les 
of  the  fer\'ently  longed  for  gratifications — not  of  a  niateriul 
nature, — that  the  capital,  success,  produces  as  intcavsl. 
My  classing  the  iiivikitions  among  the  non-material  adv:ui- 
tages  of  tlic  respect  paid  is  not  a  mistake  l)ut  intentional 
For  what  is  essential  iu  them  is  not  the  proft'ered  viands, 
lint  the  lionor  shown  in  the  invitation.  Tlie  food  is  only 
meinit  as  a  symbol,  and  besides,  its  ftiU  value,  at  a  lilKTal 
estimation,  has  to  lie  retmned  in  presents  at  Christmas 
time.  The  lionor,  on  the  contrary,  is  all  pure  gain,  ami  is 
held  in  less  esteem  than  the  bill  of  fare  by  none  but  low- 
minded  natin*es. 

Let  us  see  now  whether  the  school  prepares  youtli  for 
the  strife  for  sufcess  and  supplies  it  with  even  tlie  ele- 
mentaiy  principles  of  tlie  art  of  winning  the  material  and 
ideal  gratifications  enumerated  aliove.  There  is  not  much 
Ui  be  said  against  tlie  common  schools,  1  confess  at  once. 
At  the  age  at  which  the  children  attend  Ihem  nothing 
serious  can  lie  begun  with  them,  for  the  accomi)lisliiiients 
with  which  we  make  our  way  in  the  world,  presu[)[M»se  a 
certain  development  of  the  intellect,  and  some  maturity. 
The  common  schools  teach  the  children  how  to  read,  .write 
and  cipher,  and  these  can  only  be  useful,  especially  tin' 
latter.  To  lie  alile  to  cipher  is  a  great  advant;ige  in  giv- 
ing, and  also  an  ail  vantage,  although  less  so,  in  recfi\'iij,u. 
and  reading  an<l  writing  are  also  beneficial  if  one  is  wise 
enouirh  to  use  them  within  due  bonnds.  The  uni>  ersities 
can  also  be  partirdly  approved  of,  for  the  cluljs  and  secret 
societies  aftbid  op|x>rtnnities  for  the  development  or  e\'olu- 
tioa  of  some  important  talents, — for  instancCj  the  talent  of 


THE   POLLY  OF   A   CLASSICAL   EDrCATTON. 


97 


attracting  the  attention  of  one's  equals  and  superiors  by 
loud  speechifying  and  versatility,  or  that  of  discerning  the 
prevailing  currents  and  allowing  one's  self  to  float  along 
with  them,  or  of  paying  court  to  influential  people ;  and 
attenti\^e  observation  of  the  relations  existing  between  the 
professors,  the  assistant  professors  and  the  tutors  will  also 
lead  a  talented  young  man  to  certain  conclusions  that  may 
be  of  great  value  to  him  all  his  life.  But  unfortunately 
the  high  schools  do  not  lay  the  greatest  stress  on  students* 
societies,  and  the}'  do  not  restrict  themselves  to  exer- 
cise an  educational  influence  by  the  inspiring  examples  of 
academical  careers — or  at  least  of  some  academical  careers. 
They  inflict  upon  the  young  all  sorts  of  lectures  and  exer- 
cises, with  recitation-rooms  and  laboratories,  and  all  these 
seem  to  me  of  very  questionable  practical  value  for  the 
student's  success  in  life.  The  gyninasiuni  or  classical 
course,  finally,  is  not  worth  a  pinch  of  powder.  It  does 
not  further  in  any  way  the  future  citizen  entrusted  to  it. 
On  the  contrary  it  makes  him  still  more  awkward  in  the 
struggle  for  success.  It  means  a  sad  waste  of  the  most 
valuable  years  of  life.  I  ask  what  possible  advantage  it 
can  be  to  a  lad  to  be  fed  on  Horace  and  Homer?  AVill  it 
enable  him  afterwards  to  comprehend  inaehine-made  poetry 
more  easily?  Or  what  advantage  will  the  enthusiasm 
bring  to  him  which  he  may  have  experienced  in  reading 
Iphigenia?  Will  it  enable  him  to  converse  wittily  of  the 
'*  Beggar  Student "  ?  As  the  last  moral  of  history  the  sen- 
tence '^  Pro  jxifn'd  morr'  is  impressed  upon  him.  Is  this 
imposing  sentence  any  guide  how  to  address  the  Lord 
Chancellor  with  all  due  deference?  To  sum  it  all  up,  even 
with  the  best  of  talents,  the  lad  will  learn  nothing  that  he 
can  api)ly  to  any  practical  use  hereafter,  and  he  will  not 
be  able  to  apply  to  any  practical  use  anything  that  he  will 

loaim 


!f 


^K1 


98 


SUCCESS. 


There  is  a  sad  gap  in  oui*  present  system  of  education 
wliicli  really  ought  not  to  remain  unfilled  any  longer.     I 

dream  of  a  sdiool  wliicli  would  unhesitatingly  assert  that 
it  edneated  its  pupils  for  suc^eess.  and  would  not  falsely 
claim  to  serve  any  cast  asiile  ideals.  TIhmc^  are  certainly 
men  nowadays,  who  attain  to  sucticss  witliciut  any  such  in- 
stitutions.  But  tliis  does  not  prove  anything  against  tlie 
correctness  of  my  idea.  In  tlie  dark  ages  of  lKirl)arisni, 
even  in  coinitries  without  any  scliools  at  all,  tlu»rc  were 
some  isolate*!  and  exceptional  sages  who  acipiired  their 
knowledge  without  any  guidance  or  extraneous  assistaiun*, 
entirtily  by  their  (»wn  industry.  But  how  laI)oriou8  are 
tl lese  sol i tarv  stud i cs  !  How  much  time  is  1  < »st  i n  them 
without  need  or  profit!  To  wliat  errors  one  is  liable! 
How  far  from  perfect  and  how  onesided,  even  in  the  most 
favorable  cases,  are  the  results!  A  teacher,  on  tlie  coii- 
trar}',  removes  the  obstacles  IVom  one's  [)ath ;  tlie  tradi- 
tions of  acquired  knowledge  pre\iMit  aberrati(ms  and  idle 
fancies.  Those  men  wlio  have  worked  their  own  way 
autodidactically  to  success,  when  they  turn  arouiul  at  tlie 
«j:oal  and  look  over  the  way  they  ha\'e  come,  must  acknow4- 
edge  with  regrcit  liow  nnniy  deviatitms  from  the  path,  how 
many  steep  climbs  and  how  many  weurv.  sandy  and 
marsliy  places,  a  skillful  guide  or  a  little  knowledge  of  the 
count rv  would  have  saved  them. 

One  tiling  I  must  state  first  of  all — My  school  of  suc- 
cess would  not  ha\e  any  classes  for  girls.  Woman  is  in 
the  fortunate  situation  of  not  re«piiring  any  instruction  in 
this  science.  She  Is  pix)vided  by  nature  witli  all  the 
knowlcHlge  she  requires  to  attain  to  success  in  life,  and  the 
|ictty  arts,  not  alread}'  kirn  in  her.  she  accpiires  afterwards 
without  any  assistance.  In  the  present  arrangement  of 
til©  world,  by  far  the  largest  number  of  women  are  striv- 
ing for  l»ut  one  form  of  success — tliey  want  to  pleaae  tho 


WHAT   SUCCESS   MEANS    TO   WOMAN. 


99 


men.     To  attain  this  aim  they  need  only  to  be  pretty  or 
to  attract  attention  in  some  way.     The  lamentable  idea  has 
occurred  to  certain  perverted  minds  to  found  young  ladies' 
seminaries.     In  them   the   poor  creatures  are  taught  to 
draw,  to  pound  on  the  piano,  to  speak  foreign  languages 
with  an  absurd  accent,  and  confound  the  dates  in  history— 
thus,  the  very  things  that  will  later  make  them  objects  of 
liorror  to  the  men.     The  idea  of  these  schools  can  only 
have  originated  in  the  brain  of  some  soui-ed  old  maids,  or 
vengeance-seeking,  henpecked  husbands,  whose  wives  were 
in  the  habit  of  lieating  them.     It  shows  an  utter  miscom- 
prehension of  the  feminine  aims  in  life.     The  orientals,  in 
their  inherited,  primeval  wisdom,  look  at  the  matter  from 
an  incomparably  more  rational  point  of  view.     Am«mg 
them  the  girls  learn  nothing  else  but  dancing,  singing,  to 
play  the  lute,  to  tell  stories,  to  dye  their  nails  with  luMUia, 
and  the  edges  of  their  eyelids  with  khol— that  is,  the  ac- 
complishments which  make  them  pleasing  to  man,  which 
give  them  opportunities  of  displaying  their  charms  in  the 
most  favorable  light,  which  will  fascinate  and  permanently 
attach  their  masculine  companions  to  them  for  life.     Our 
poor  girls   of  the  Occident,  by  the  prevailing  system  of 
training,  are  artificially  prevented  from  following  their  own 
impulses,  which  wouUl  further  their  interests  far  more  than 
all   the   spectacled  and  unspectacled  professors  in  their 
institutions  of  learning  combined.     Not  until  they  have 
left  the  foolish  torture  of  the  school   behind   them   for 
good,  are  they  free  to  follow  their  inward  impulses  and 
develope  according  to  nature  for  the  end  in  view.     Then 
they  evolve  from   themselves  the  art  of   painting  their 
cheeks,  of  putting  on  powder,  of  wearing  striking  toilettes, 
of  walking,  standing  and  sitting  in  such  a  way  that  what  is 
offensive  in  the  contour  of  their  dresses  is  most  especially 
prominent;  then,  they  learn  all  by  themselves,   how  to 


wpmmfiiiiiiriiMfTr*"! 


' iirnN^iWMiH 


J 


100 


SITCC188. 


twtty  OE  an  expressive  by-phij  with  their  fans,  how  to 
allow  their  ej'es  to  eiist  liiittering  glances,  how  to  put  on 
little  airs,  lovely  gestures,  delicious  little  pouts,  and  to 
make  the  charming  modulations  of  the  voice  express  child- 
like iunottence,  maidenly  roguisluiess  or  piquant  ignorance. 
With  these  means  at  their  connnaml  they  are  sure  wher- 
ever thev  go  to  gather  a  liost  of  admirera  around  them,  to 
get  dancing-partnei*s.  adorera,  a  husliand  and  all  the  rest, 
in  short,  to  obtain  everything  that  makes  life  charming  and 
agreeable.  The  eWerly  ladies  will  turn  up  their  noses  at 
them  it  is  tnie,  and  they  will  make  rather  a  repellent  than 
an  attmetive  impression  upon  tlie  tetter  and  nobler  men, 
who  will  think  that  grease,  patches  of  paint,  flour  and 
daubs  of  all  kinds  are  as  much  out  of  place  on  a  feminine 
face  as  on  a  velvet  dress,  and  that  expanses  of  shoulders 
and  enormous  bustles  make  a  woman  look  humpbacked 
and  t!onsumptive,  or  like  a  Hottentot,  and  that  the  craving 
for  admiration  and  love  of  dress  distort  even  the  prettiest 
creature  in  the  world  into  something  positively  repulsive. 
Bnt  what  has  woman  to  care  for  these  criticisms?  8 he 
does  not  expect  any  kindly  regard  from  her  own  sex,  and 
would  not  know  what  to  do  with  it;  and  as  to  the  mascu- 
line critic,  it  is  :i  matter  of  extreme  inditference  to  h(?r  if 
some  learned  crank  does  turn  his  back  on  her  in  disap- 
proval, if  only  the  young  gentlemen  from  the  Jockey  CUili 
gaze  after  her  through  their  eyeglasses.  Tt  is  impossible 
for  her  to  conform  her  appearance  and  conduct  to  the 
ciiterioB  of  a  man  of  taste.  Tlie  man  of  taste  is  a  phcEuix. 
Many  women  live  and  die  without  ever  having  met  one. 
Only  in  the  fairy  tiile  does  it  hapiM*n  that  the  Prince  comes 
and"  finds  the  Sfeeping  Beauty  and  releases  her.  In  real 
life  it  is  iMJst  not  to  count  upon  this  mythical  peraon,  and 
if  any  maiden  is  hidden  liehind  the  growth  of  briars,  she 
has  eveiy  chance  of  staying  and  lieing  forgotten  there. 


THE  PATE   OF   AN   APOLLO. 


101 


Woman  thus  reveals  great  shrewdness  when  she  seeks  to 
please  the  crowd  and  not  the  undiscoverable  phanix. 

But  if  woman  as  a  general  thing  can  dispense  with  a 
theoretical  training  for  success,  man  is  not  so  fortunate  as 
a  rule.     He  has  to  please  individuals  of  his  own  sex  in 
order  to  make  his  way  in  the  world,  and  this  is  not  so  sini- 
l»le  a  matter  as  to  make  a  favorable  impression  upon  those 
<»rthe  opposite  sex.     It  is  true  that  there  are  some  careers 
in  whicli  man  enjoys  the  same  advantages  as  woman,  where 
he  can  operate  with  his  personality  and  has  only  the  ladies 
to  please ;  for  instance,  as  an  actor,  a  tenor  or  clerk  in 
some  dry  goods  esta])lishment.     Men  of  this  class  do  not 
need  any  school  to  teach  them  how  to  succeed.     If  nature 
has  treated  them  at  all  like  a  real  mother,  they  go  ahead 
without  any  theories,  as  if  propelled  l)y  steam.     The  finest 
instruction,  unfortunately,  can  not  give  a  charming,  wav- 
iui^  moustache,  and  even  if  one  is  able  to   inpart  a  special 
charni  to  one's  hair  by  artificial  arrangemcnit,  the  hair- 
dresser has  to  have  a  sntlicient  abundance  of  hair  at  his 
•lisposal  or  he  cannot  successfully  perform  his  sacred  rites. 
An    Apollo    Belvedere   in  flesh  and   blood,  or   even  one 
of  those  warriors  without  a  scar  stationed  on  the  Palace 
hi'idtreat  Berlin,  need  not  have  any  anxiety  in  regard  to 
their  getting  on  in  the  world.     As  a  private  soldier,  he  will 
s<»on  be  promoted  from  the  kitchen  to  the  sitting-room  of 
tlie  family ;  as  a  footman  or  coachman,  he  will  be  always 
in  active  demand  ;  as  a  waiter,  he  will  make  the  fortune  of 
his  hotel  and  his  own  into  the  bargain;  as  a  "supe"'  or 
one  of  the  chorus,  he  can  have  his  choice  among  the 
daughters  of  the  land,  and  even  to  some  degree  among  the 
mothers.     He  will  <lo  better  perhaps,  liowever,  in  order  to 
avoid  any  unpleasant  disappointments,  not  to  strive  for 
any  marshalship  or  dukedom  from  the  start,  because  at  the 
present  time  there  is  no  Katherine  occupying  any  of  the 


,     .      1: 


102 


BtJCCBB«. 


THE    S€I100L   OP   SUCCESS. 


103 


more  respectable  thrones  of  Europe.  But  Ji  moderate  and 
sound  ambition  is  certain  of  being  fulfilled,  with  the  pre- 
vious eonditions  we  have  just  mentioned.  Such  a  ladies' 
pet  would  only  do  himself  harm  If  he  wished  tc  add  the 
graces  of  intellect  to  the  physical  «rraces  he  already  ik)s- 
sesses.  It  would  l)e  too  bad  for  liim  to  dim  the  bnlliancy 
of  his  eyes  l)y  much  poring  over  books.  Ho  might  fright- 
en away  his  fair  admirers  with  culture  or  wit,  and  place  a 
certain  restraint  uiwu  tlicm  that  woidd  lessen  their  delight 
in  his  handsome  pliysi(|U(\  To  be  as  handsome  as  a  Greek 
god  and  as  stupid  ns  a  cnrp  in  a  pond— this  will  ensure 
any  one  Mohammed  s  Paradise  on  this  earth,  with  the 
Iiouris  and  everything  else  rwiiiiivtl  to  make  it  orthodox- 
ically  complete.  Individuals  thus  equipped  need  a  school 
as  little  as  a  genius  needs  it. 

A  eenius,  however  is  tlie  rare  exception,  and  human 
institutions  arc  intended  fi>r  average  individuals  only.  A 
Beethoven,  even  without  any  school  of  nnisic,  will  become 
what  he  is  liound  to  liccoinii,  but  chorister's  sons  of  the 
every  day  type,  have  to  Ik;  lield  to  the  drudgery  of  coun- 
terpoint to  enable  them  to  olitiiin  S(nnc  Ktipcllmeister's 
|)08ition,  with  a  riglit  to  a  pension  later  on.  We  will  thus 
not  regard  here  all  the  categories  of  exceptional  individ- 
ualities,~the  A|k>1Ios,  the  aristocrats  of  tlie  first  class,  with 
their  solid  annual  income,  the  sons  of  millionaires— none 
of  these  have  to  cliase  after  success,  success  chases  after 
tliem.  My  school  of  success  is  destined  for  tlie  wretched 
multitude  alone  which  is  l>orn  williout  titles  an«l  incomes, 
and  in  spite  of  this  fact,  dreams  of  large  bank  accounts, 
and  the  order  of  the  Red  Eagle.  These  onlin:uy  men  now 
would  enter  upon  the  struggle  for  exisUnice  with  far  lietter 
prospects  of  success  if  they  had  been  systenniticallv  trained 
to  find  their  way  through  the  press  and  iurnic»il  of  real 
iiie* 


If  the  school  of  success  were  now  estal)lished,  the  di- 
rector ought  to  {ippeal  to  the  conscience  of  every  l^itlicr  who 
wanted  to  confide  a  boy  to  him,  with  this  little  discourse 
delivered  in  all  candor:     "Dear  sir,  will  you  first  consider 
what  you  rcnlly  want.     Tf  you  destine  your  son  to  pass 
his  life  in  an  ideal  world  in  which  merit  alone  receives  the 
lanrel-wretdhs,  mo<lest  \\vU\i}  is  sought  out  in  its  place  of 
retirement,    and    rewtu'ded,    wliere   stupidity,    vanity   and 
wickedness  are  unknown  and  the  good  and  the  ])eautiful 
overwhelmingly  prevail,  or  if  you  believe  that  your  son 
will  always  place  his  self-respect  a))0ve  the  applause  of  the 
multitude,  and  listen  to  his  conscience  alone,  and  not  at  all 
to  the  opinion  of  tlu^  crowd,  and  that  he  will  be  satisfied 
to  do  his  duty  and  l)e  praise<l  by  his  inward  monitors- 
then  lie  has  nf>thing  to  seek  here.     You  will  do  far  l)etter 
in  that  case,  to  send  hiin  to  any  other  school  you  like,  and 
have  him  educated  in   tlu^  good  old  way.     In   that  case 
he  will  read  the  poets  of  ancient  and  modern  times,  play 
with  the  sciences  a  little  and  swear  l)y  what  the  teacher 
says.     But  if  you  want  your  son  to  he  a  man  whom  others 
greet  with  deference  in  the  street,  who  travels  in  palace 
cars  and  puts  u[)  at  first  class  hotels,  if  you  want  him  to 
have  monev  and  influence  and  be  able  to  look  down  with 
contempt  on  all  grim,  famishing  wretches,  then  leave  him 
here.     That  he  will  ever  have  a  place  in  Plutarch— this  I 
do  not  guarantee ;  l)ut  T  do  guarantee  that  you  will  find 
his  name  some  time  in  the  political  roll-call  opposite  some 

fine  otlice."' 

The  training  school  for  success  would  of  course  have 
different  departments,  of  a  lower  and  higher  grade,  the  same 
as  the  schools  of  fossil  learning.  As  not  every  scholar  is 
striving  after  a  collegiate  education  and  a  professorship, 
thus  not  every  ambitious  fellow  aims  to  be  a  prime  minister 
or  a  millionaire.     Many  are  content  with  more  modest  aims 


^aSiiMfi 


I' 


iiiid  therefore  require  no  more  than  elementarj'  instniction. 
It  will  thus  he  advisahle  to  divide  the  school  into  tlic  eoni- 
mon  school  department,  the  intermediate  and  the  high 
Sfhool.  Tlie  conimon  school  woiild  he  for  those  who  wish 
to  devote  themselves  to  the  more  nsual  trades,  to  manual 
lalior,  trade,  etc.  Tt  would  only  }»e  nt»cessary  to  impress 
one  single  elementary  principle  u|x>n  them,  which  the  wis- 
dom of  tlie  masses  long  since  discf>v(*red  for  itself,  namely, 
tliat  '•Honesty  is  the  licst  iwilicj."  Tliis  does  not  sound 
at  all  like  >Ia<*hiuvt»lli.  Init  it  can  not  l»e  impro\'ed  upon — 
it  is  the  fact,  once  tor  nil,  ihut  a  man  can  iK'st  recommend 
himself  in  the  Innnlilcr  walks  of  life  by  carefulness  and  re- 
liahility.  Tlie  shiM»miiker  who  makes  I  toots  well  and  jx>n 
honor,  the  giXM*(»r  who,  under  the  name  of  sugar,  sells 
sugar  and  not  sand,  these  will  niaivc  iiuMr  own  small,  mod- 
€»st  way  in  the  world  an<l  )h'  It^ippy.  ifihey  will  l>e  satisfied 
with  the  good  will  of  their  custouicis  and  their  ihuly  meat 
and  vegetal)les.  The  same  popular  wisdom  also  asserts, 
however,  tliat  "l^iffing  is  part  of  tlie  trade,"  hut  wlien  we 
take  everything  into  acc»ount,  and  consider,  we  must  come 
to  the  conclusion  to  avoid  this  |K»iut  of  view.  Tlie  ele- 
ments  in  tnuU-  aiv  too  simple  to  .nak..  luimb.ijr  a.lvisahle. 
Even  a  stupid  fellow  sees  too  soon  into  lies,  fidse  pre- 
tence«  and  bnigging,  ami  shi.s  ofT.  In  these  .areers  suc- 
cess is  really  the  rowarrl  ..f  honest  ability.  Ix^anse  .yorj 
one  is  capabh*  of  judging  for  himself.  Any  one  can  see 
wliether  a  coat  is  too  tiglit  or  too  loose,  the  most  ohtUse 
intellect  can  not  foil  to  notice,  if  liis  Itedstead  comes  to 
pieces,  and  only  in  a  few  social  circles  in  Saxony  will  an 
admixture  of  cliicory  in  the  cotfee  fail  to  attract  attention. 
The  case  is  dilfereut  in  tlie  higher  professions.  Any  one 
whose  choice  foils  on  one  of  these  requires  a  more  pro- 
tracted and  careliil  preparation  for  success,  and  this  he 
might  gain  in  the  intermediate  and  liigh  school.     In  them 


MODESTY    AX    IMPEDIMENT    TO    STCf  ESS. 


105 


it  is  i)ropose<l  to  instil  into  the  pupil  a  few  fundamental 
principles  that  are  entirely  different  from  those  which  the 
usual  systems  of  education  en.knuor  to  inculcate.     Partic- 
ular attention   should  be  given  to  popular  proverbs,  for 
thcv  often  enclose  a  large  kernel  of  truth.     For  instance, 
there  is  the  sagacious,  although  ungrannnatical  German 
couplet :    ••  Modesty,  it  is  a  jewel ;  yet,  lacking  it,  fate's  not 
so  cruel,"     This  is  a  golden  axiom  that  can  not  be  im- 
pressed too  much.     In  fact,  there  is  no  greater,  no  more 
dangerous  iini)ediment  in  the  way  to  worldly  success  than 
modesty.     You  may  have  the  greatest  nu^rit,  you  may  ha 
the  most  highly  gifted  and  accomplished  of  men,  you  may 
perform  miracles  of  dilliculty  and  usefulness— if  you  are 
modest  you  will  never  see  the  reward  (jf  your  labors.     Per- 
haps,  some  day,  a  monument  may  be   raised  over  your 
grave  ;  even  this  is  not  certain  ;  but  during  your  life  time 
you  Avill  not  get  either  money  or  honor.     Modesty  is  to 
stiuid  by  the  door  and  let  others  get  the  front  seats  ;  to 
approach  the  table  timidly  after  the  rest  have  finished  eat- 
ing;  to  wait  until  the  food  is  ottered,  instead  of  asking  tor 
it,''demaiiding  it,  lighting  lor  it.     Any  one  who  acts  in  this 
foolish  way  can  rely  upon  being  left  to  stand  at  the  door. 
upon  finding  tlu'  table  cleared,  and  upon  nol)ody  offering 
him  any   food.        Be  careful  not  to  have  the  bad  taste  to 
speak  about  yourself,"     What  utter  nonsense !     The  re- 
vei-se  is  what  is  right :  talk  always,  exclusively,  systemat- 
ically, about  yourself!     Never  mind  if  it  does  not  enter- 
tiiin  the  rest.     It  interests  you,  in  the  first  place.     In  the 
sticond  place,  you  pre\'ent  any  conversation  about  any  one 
else,  a  rival  perhaps,  as  long  as  you  are  speaking.    And, 
finally,  something  of  what  you  have  said  will  always  cling 
even  to  the  most  rebellious  memory.     Of  course  you  will 
possess  the  simple  wisdom  not  to  mention  anything  but 
what  is  favorable  about  yourself.     In  this  respect  you 


, 


t 


106 


CifTfirtiiicaci 


should  not  impose  ilie  sligliteafc  restraint  or  limitations 
upon  yoiireelf.  Praise  yourself,  extol  yourself,  glorify 
yourself;  lie  eloquent,  inspired,  inexhaustible.  Lavish  tlie 
grandest  adjectives  upon  yourself,  raise  what  you  are  doing 
or  have  done  to  the  sc\euth  heaven,  ilhiminate  it  grtice- 
ftilly  on  all  sides,  claim  su|ierior  excellence  for  it,  assert 
that  it  is  the  most  important  piwluction  of  the  century,  de- 
clare that  the  whole  world  is  admiring  it,  repeat  if  necesaiy 
iattering  criticisms  of  it  that  you  have  heanl,  or  invent  as 
you  go  along.  You  will  see  how  fast  you  will  get  on  by 
this  system.  The  wise  will  laugh  at  or  be  disgusted  with 
you.  What  do  you  care?  The  wise  are  an  insignificant 
minority  and  the  prizes  of  life  arc  not  distributed  l»y  them. 
Your  rivals  will  also  find  fault  with  you.  So  much  the 
better.  You  will  anticipate  them,  assert  that  their  remarks 
are  nothing  l>ut  envy  and  cite  tliem  as  further  proof  of 
your  greatness.  The  vast  mnjoritj'  on  the  otlier  hand,  the 
multitude  that  makes  success,  will  believe  you,  they  will 
reiterateyoiir  jiidguieut  of  3'oui'self  aud  make  way  for  you 
to  take  the  place  you  ha\  c  usurped.  This  result  is  assured 
to30U  by  tlic  cowaixlliness  and  meuUd  indolence  of  the 
masses.  Their  cowardliness  causes  them  not  to  dare  to 
contradict  you,  to  show  you  }'()ur  place,  as  the  saying  is. 
You  will  be  accepted  just  as  you  are ;  your  arrogance 
will  be  regaitled  as  one  of  your  characteristics,  noticed 
perhaps  for  a  moment  and  then  never  thought  of  again. 
If  you  are  invited  anywhere,  the  hostess  will  say  to  lierself: 
"That  man  thinks  he  is  of  the  greatest  importance.  No 
one  can  pay  too  much  attention  to  him,  or  show  him  too 
much  honor.  What  shall  we  do?  I  must  seat  him  at  ray 
right  at  tlie  table,  or  else  he  may  take  offence  and  go  away 
feeling  that  he  has  been  insulted."  If  some  modest  person 
of  real  wortli  happens  to  be  there,  to  whom  this  place 
really  ought  to  be  conceded,  he  is  very  calmly  addressed  as 


mBMH" 


THE  CROWD  BELIEVES  ALL  THAT  IT  IS  TOLD.   107 

follows:     "You  have  no  objections,  have  you,  to  my  giv- 
ing him  the  preference?    You  are  above  all  such  triviali- 
ties," and  you  have  as  a  settled  thing  the  first  place  for 
yourself,  you  have  accustomed  people  to  yield  it  to  you, 
and  after  a  while,  the  idea  that  it  might  be  otherwise  will 
never  enter  any  one's  head.     The  mental  indolence  of  tlu^ 
masses  is  the  second  guarantee  of  the  expediency  of  }our 
arrogance.     Only  a  small  number  of  men  are  capable  of  or 
accustomed  to  distilling  an  opinion  out  of  the  crude  mat- 
ter of   facts,    that   is,    collecting    impressions.    ol)ser\iug 
closely   the  results  of  experience,    comparing,    iuterpret- 
insr,  dijjestinic   them    in   their   mind,   to  come    fuially   to 
some    tirnily    founded    individual   opinion    about    them; 
but  every  one  is  capable  of  repeating  a  sentence  spoken  in 
his   presence.     On   this   account   the  settled  opinions  of 
others  are  accepted  with  joy  and  l)elief  In'  the  masses.     It 
makes  no  difference  whether  these  opinions  are  utteriy 
false,  nor  whether  they  are  in  the  most  flagrant  opposition 
to  the  facts.     To  become  aware  of  this,  the  masses  would 
have  to  be  able  to  test  and  estimate  the  facts  themselves 
in  a  logical  manner,  and  this  they  are  not  capable  of  doing. 
I  met  with  a  remarkable  instance  of  this  not  long  ago.     It 
happened  that  1  had  to  prescribe  some  mead  for  a  l)aby,  to 
be  given  occasionally  in  teaspoouful  doses.     Half  an  hour 
after  my  visit  to  my  small  patient  his  mother  burst  like  a 
bomb-shell  into  my  room,  and  screamed  in  l)reathless  alarm 
before  she  had  fairiy  crossed  tlie  threshold :    "OIl  Doctor, 
my  child  is  dying  !     Hardly  had  it  taken  a  few  drops  of 
that  diabolical  medicine  when  it  turned  black  in  tlie  face 
and  began  to  cough  most  dreadfully,  and  came  very  near 
strangling.     Oh,  what  kind  of  stuff  have  you  been  gi^'ing 
the  poor  child  !  "     I  saw  at  once  that  the  child  had  merely 
choked  a  little,  but  still  I  replied  with  a  portentous  mien  : 
"Yes,  I  am  not  surprised.     When  we  employ  such  heroic 


y 


i 


108 


SUCCliSS. 


remedies  :is  ine:ici,  we  must  expect  such  effects.  '  The 
woman  wriiiig  her  hands  and  liegan  again:     '*But  how 

toidd  3'on  prescribe  sncli  a  heroic  medicine !"     "Do 

you  know  of  what  mead  consists?*'  I  interrupted  her. 
"No."  "It  is  a  solution  of  hoiiej  and  water."  Her  coun- 
tenance expressed  the  sjime  horror  as  if  I  had  said :  "  Of 
sulphuric  acid  and  rat  poison."  "You  understand,"  I  re- 
sumed, "that  where  we  use  such  severe  ingredients  as 
water  and  hone}'. . . .  "  " That  is  so,"  she  said  with  a  sigh, 
and  an  expression  of  grief  and  bitter  reproach.  Just  like 
lliia  woman,  the  masses  take  everything  literally  that  is 
said  to  them,  and  repeat  it  with  blind  belief,  never  dis- 
tinguishing tetween  truth  and  Msehood,  between  serious- 
ness and  mockery.  To  this,  entire  nations  owe  their 
renown  and  rank  in  the  world.  They  have  in  reality  all 
the  worat  and  most  degrading  qualities,  but  they  assert 
that  they  have  tlie  finest  and  noblest.  They  are  envious 
and  they  call  themselves  generous,  they  are  selfish  and 
Ihej  call  themselves  unselfish,  they  hate  and  despise  all 
foreign  peoples,  and  they  extol  their  universal  brotherly 
love  of  humanity ;  they  resist  eveiy  progressive  innova- 
tion, and  maintain  that  they  are  the  hatching  houses  for 
every  novel  idea ;  they  have  dropped  far  behind  in  every 
departnieni  and  they  keep  constantly  re|>eating  that  they 
lead  the  way  in  evervthing ;  with  their  hands  they  force 
weaker  peoples  to  tecome  their  servant*  and  oppress  them, 
rob  them  of  their  liberties,  and  violate  the  faith  of  their 
swoiii  treaties  with  them,  while  with  their  mouths  they  are 
proclaiming  all  the  while  the  finest  principles  of  justice. 
And  the  world  does  not  take  the  trouble  to  look  at  the 
facts,  but  listens  to  what  they  say  and  repeats  it  with  im- 
plicit belief*  It  does  not  notice  that  the  hands  are  contra- 
dicting the  lips,  and  it  is  convinced  that  those  nations  are 
really  all  that  they  claim  to  be. 


APPEARANCES   MORE    IMPORTANT   THAN    REALITY.     109 

So,  no  retiriii--  modesty,  y^miig  num,  if  you  want  to 
make   your   mark   in   the    world.     Humble   yourself  ami 
every  one  else  will  humble  you.     Yield  the  precedence  to 
another  imd  the  spectiitors  will  be  convinced  that  it  bc- 
h»ngs  to  him  by  right.     Call  yourself  of  no  account,  your 
achievements  of  no  iniportiuice,  your  merits  over-appre- 
ciuted,  and  your  listeners  will  have  nothing  more  prcssmg 
to  do  than  to  .si)reii(l  your  opinion  of  yourself  abroiid,  willi 
out  mentioning  from  whom  it  came.     It  must  of  course  be 
understood  that  I  am  not  saying  that  modesty  is  to  be  east 
aside  under  all  cireuuistunces.     The  time  will  come  when 
it  can  1»e  assumed  witiiout  harm,  and  even  with  advautiige. 
This  is  when  vou  have  fully  attained  your  aim.    As  soon  as 
you  are  in  a  position  in  whioh you  are  recognized,  and  which 
is  really  of  first  rank,  and  so  surely  defined  that  no  one 
can  be  in  doubt  as  to  the  place  to  which  you  are  entitled,— 
then  you  can  play  the  role  of  the  modest  man.     Then  you 
can  remain  at  the  door,  you  will  ]>e  escorted  in  triumph  to 
the  platform;  then  you  can  decline  compliments,  certain 
that  they  will  be  repeated  with  em])ellisliments  and  empha- 
sis- you  can  then  speak  without  concern  of  your  insignifi- 
cance, your  decorations,  your  emliroidcred  dress  coat,  will 
sufficiently  contradict  you.     You   will  not  detract  from 
your  influence,  and  30U  will  gain  the  advantage  .that  every 
one  will  be  touched  and  enraptured  with  your  humility. 

You  luue  ncnv  learned  that  appearances  are  of  far 
more  imporbuice  than  reality.  Drink  as  much  wine  as  you 
want  to,  but  preach  water.  This  is  always  edifying  even 
when  your  nose  is  blazing  like  some  weird  will  o'  the  wisp, 
and  your  legs  are  no  longer  al)le  to  support  you.  If  whde 
you  are  declaiming  Pindar's  Ode  in  praise  of  Water,  your 
lips  are  trembling  in  delirium  tremens,  you  need  not 
worrv.  Your  audience  will  take  it  for  emotion,  and  have 
only  the  more  reverence  for  you. 


r,: 


i 


!l|i 


SUCCESS. 

Another   fimclainentjil   prmciple  is  this :    beware  of 
being  kind  to  others.     With  kindness  }ou    will  never 
amount  to  anything.     Your  rivals  will  despise  yoiu  your 
enemies  ridicule  you,  and  your  well-wishers  consider  you  a 
bore.     No  one  will  have  any  considcnitiou  for  you,  for 
people  will  any:    "Ah,  yes,  X.,  that  good-natured  fellow, 
if  you  tread  on  liis  toes  he  will  smilingly  beg  your  pardon 
most  politely.'*     NaiTow- minded,  foolish  advisers  inny  [)er- 
haps  tell  3011  that  it  is  good  policy  to  si^eak  well  of  every- 
)K>dy,  its  by  these  means  3'ou  may  di sari  11  possible  enemies. 
Do  not  iniagine  anything  of  the  kind.     The  reverse  is  true. 
As  110  one  has  any  shooting  to  fear  from  you  in  return, 
the}'  will  8h<X)t  away  at  you  all  the  men'ier.     You  must  !)e 
as  full  of  malice  as  an  old  witch,  and  have  as  venomous  a 
tongue  as  a  snake.     Your  speeches  must  bo  sulphurie  acid, 
and  leave  a  ragged  hole  where\'er  thty  are  taken  home.    A 
name  that  has  passed  tlo-ongh  your  month  should  look  as 
if  it  had  been  kept  for  a  week  iu  a  bottle  of  \itriol.     Make 
yourself  feared,  and  do  not  worry  because  3  on  are  making 
youi-sclf  hated  at  the  same  time.     Tlie  cowards,  who  as  I 
lia\'e  already  explained,  constitute  the  vast  majority,  will 
lH!ut  you  as  savage  peoples  treat  a  maIe\-olent  deit}- — thc}^ 
will  flatter  you  and  offer  sacrifices  to  keep  you  in  good 
humor.     The  rest  will  perhaps  p:iy  you  back  in  the  same 
coin,  it  is  true,  but  just  consider  what  an  advantage  you 
have  over  them  when  you  can  reply  with  a  shrug  of  your 
shoulders  to  the  hostile  remarks  of  some  one  whom  you 
have  calumniated:    "The  poor  mini  is  tiying  to  revenge 
liimself.     You  already'  know  what  1  have  always  thought 
and  said   about  him,"     Every   unfavorable   criticism  of 
}'ourself  is  deprived  of  its  influence  in  tlie  eyes  of  the  mul- 
titude if  you  have  iMsen  shrewd  enougli  to  say  all  sorts  of 
mean  things  beforehand  and  cver3'whcre  about  your  critic, 
for  then  yon  can  represent  it  all  as  an  attempt  at  retaliation. 


THE    RESPECT   OF   ONeV    KQUxVLS. 


Ill 


A  certain   widely  disseminated   prejudice— tliat  evi- 
dently originated  with  some  unpractical  idealists— is  that 
we  ought  to  make  special  efforts  to  win  the  favorable  opin- 
icm  and  the  respect  of  our  compeers.     Beware  of  acceptuig 
this  saying  as  correct.     Your  competitors  are  your  rivals. 
The  vast  majority  crave   success  and   nothing  but  suc- 
cess just  like  you,  and  their  room  is  diminished  by  the 
whole  width  of  yours.     Do  not  expect  either  justice  or 
kindness  from  them.     Tliey  will  exaggerate  and  proclaim 
your  faults,  and  they  will  be  discreetly  silent  on  the  sub- 
ject of  your  merits.     You  liave  only  to  concern  yourself 
with  U'o  classes  of  men,  the  great  multitude  of  those  who 
sUmd  beneath  3  ou,  and  the  few  influential  persons  in  whose 
hands  lie  the  honors,  the  j^ositions— in  short,  your  promo- 
tion.    You  must  apply  the  laws  of  double  optics  to  your- 
self, and  learn  to  carry  yourself  in  such  a  way  that,  seen 
fi-om  iKjlow,  you  will  appear  very  large,  and,  seen  from 
above,  very  small.     This  is  not  a  very  easy  matter,  but 
with  practice  and  some  iiaiiinil  talent,  you  can  attain  this 
proficiency.     The  masses   must  believe   that  you   are  a 
genius  of  ^extraordinary  breadth,  the  chiefs,  or  high  priests 
of  3-our  profession,  on  the  contrary,  must  consider  you  an 
industrious,  doc^ile  mediocrity,  who  swears  by  what  his 
teachers  say,  and  who  spreads  their  fame   abroad,  and 
would  rather  die  than  strive  to  cast  a  shadow  upon  it  by 
any  criticism  or  bv  his  own  pcrfonnances.     If  you  under- 
stand how  to  let  vourself  be  seen  by  those  ta)ove  and  those 
beneath  you  at  the  proper  focus  all  the  time,  then  you 
need  n(»t  care  a  snap  for  the  opinion  of  3  our  eauals.     You 
will  be  getting  on  in  the  worid,  and  that  is  the  main  pomt 
in  your^'estimation.     As  soon  as  you  have  left  your  com- 
petitors behind  in  the  race,  as  soon  as  you  are  in  a  posi- 
tion to  benefit  or  injure  them,  then   you  will  have  the 
pleasure  of  observing  the  rapidity  and  completeness  with 


j^ia^aMM^M 


1 1  '<>' 


wliich  1311 V ions  cletrautioii  is  tfiiiisfonued  into  elcMjiient 
praise,  cool  reserve  l<>  «:lowiiig  fiieiiiisliip.  tMjnleinpt  to 
respet-tf  II I  iid in  iratioi i . 

As  a  matter  of  eourse  yvu  iiiu.sl  be  careful  imt  Uj 
neglect  the  visible  Hiuiiifestatioiis  <>!'  the  pluloso[)hieiil 
principles  W  wMeh  you  are  to  guide  your  behavior  iu  the 
world.  Duly  the  very  wealtliy,  against  whose  uiillious  no 
one  can  insinuate  a  doulit,  have  the  right  to  lie  modesl  in 
ttieir  waj'  of  living,  but  these  have  no  cause  to  aiiply 
to  in}'  sehotjl  of  success.  The  poorer  \c>u  are,  the  ni«)re 
necessary  it  is  for  you  to  make  an  inijiosing  api»car- 
ance.  Dress  richly,  have  your  surixiuudings  elegant, 
live  as  if  Golcoiida  was  enkdled  upon  you.  But  this 
costs  monev?  Vcrx'  true,  and  lots  of  it,  Unx  But  if  one; 
does  not  liapix^ii  to  ha\e  any?  Then  go  iu  debt  Del»t?  ! 
Ccrtaiuly,  niy  l>oy,  certainly.  There  are  few  ladders  lliat 
cnal>le  one  to  climb  so  rapidly  :uid  securely  to  the  higliest 
aims  as  del>ts.  It  is  revolting  when  we  reflect  how  they 
have  been  traduced  by  pedants,  and  brought  int<j  (hsret»ute. 
The  cruellest  wrong  has  been  done  to  tlieni.  Much  ex- 
travagance and  licence  will  lie  forgiven  to  the  genius  of 
Heine,  liut  never  his  line  :  ••  Man,  pay  your  debts  !  '  What 
follv,  what  immoralitv  !  If  vou  follow  Heine" s  advice  v<hi 
are  lost.  Just  consider  for  a  moment:  Who  is  sroinuj  to 
notice  you  if  you  pay  your  way  as  you  go  ahjiig,  in  |>elty, 
narrow  honest v?  No  one  will  turn  to  look  afiir  vou. 
Join  some  threadbare  company,  live  in  an  attic,  eat  «lry 
bread,  :ind  ne\'er  rim  in  debt — you  will  soon  feel  the  re- 
sults. The  dogs  will  liark  at  you,  the  watchmen  will  look 
y* m  over  with  distrust,  res{)eetable  people  double  lock 
Iheir  doors  in  your  face.  And  tlie  grocer,  whose  customer 
you  are,  will  cease  to  take  the  slightest  interest  in  you 
from  the  moment  when  you  have  paid  him  the  amount  of 
his  bill.    If  you  are  stricken  down  in  front  of  his  store 


TUE  BENEFITS  OF  DEBTS. 


113 


door,  his  only  thought  will  be  how  to  remove  the  obstruc- 
tion from  his  threshold.     Then,  on  the  contrary,  get  every- 
thing on  criMlit,  pump  where  you  can,  and  your  condition 
will  be  transformed  as  if  by  magic.     Iu  the  first  place  all 
the  enjoyments  of  lifi'.  will  bo  accessible  to  you  that  the 
poor   be^L^gar  has  to  deny    himself.     Then   your   general 
appearance  will  arouse?  on  all   sides  the  most  favorable 
prejudices.     At  last  you  will  have  a  whole  body  guard  or 
retinue  (.f  zealous,  even  fanatical,  co-workers  for  your  suc- 
cess.    For   each   creditor   is  a   friend,   a  well-wisher,    an 
active  agent  in  your  promotion.     Me  will  not  allow  any- 
lliing  to^'befall  you.     No  fatlier  will  exert  himself  to  such 
:m  extent  in  your  behalf  as  a  creditor.     The  more  you  owe 
him.  the  orcater  his  interest  iu  seeing  you  prosper.     He 
watches  over  you  that  not  a  hair  of  your  head  be  rumpled, 
for  your  life  is  his  money.     He  trembles  when  any  peril 
threatens  you,  for  your  ruin  is  the  grave  of  his  claim. 
Have  quantities  of  creditors,  young  man,  and  your  ftite  is 
ensuivd  from  the  start.     Tluy  will  secure  for  you  a  rich 
wife,  an  exalted  position  and  a  fine  reputation.     The  most 
fortunate  investment  is  to  apply  the  money  of  others  to  an 
ornamental  formation  of  your  own  existence. 

These  would  1)0  the  leading  ideas  according  to  which 
the  nature  of  the  students  of  success  should  be  c.nltivated 
and  their  actions  regulated.  The  most  advanced  pupils 
miiiht  also  be  initiated  into  the  fundamental  principles, 
upon  which  the  whole  science  of  training  for  success  is 
founded.  It  admits  of  being  concisely  expressed :— Suc- 
cess in  this  world  can  be  obtained  in  two  ways,  either  by 
one's  own  superiority,  or  by  the  weaknesses  of  otliers. 
The  first  way  is  by  lar  the  most  diflficult  and  uncertain,  for, 
in  the  first  place,  it  assumes  that  one  has  superior  advan- 
tages, which,  however,  is  not  the  case  of  every  ones  and  in 
the  second,  it  is  inseparable  from  the  condition  that  these 


li! 

I 


.  # 


\4 


114 


srrrEss. 


advantages  are  noticed  and  appreciated  at  tlie  right  time 
and  to  a  sufficient  extent,  which  almost  never  liappens  in 
actual  experience.  Speculating  on  the  failings  of  others, 
on  the  contrary,  is  always  successful.  The  teacher  would 
thus  l)e  justified  in  saying  to  his  pupil :  '-Bo  not  take  the 
trouble  to  accomplish  anything  of  extraordinary  merit,  to 
allow  your  work  to  speak  in  your  behalf:  Its  voice  is 
feeble  and  it  will  l>e  drowned  in  the  shouts  of  jealous 
mediocrities,  its  language  is  foreign  and  will  not  be  under- 
stood  l)y  the  ignorant  multitude.  Only  the  noblest  and 
most  unselfish  will  pay  any  attention  whatever  to  your 
productions  and  appreciate  them,  and  even  the}'  will  hardly 
do  any  tiling  for  you  if  3'ou  do  not  intrude  your  personality 
upon  their  attention.  So  instead  of  wasting  your  time  in 
honest  and  toilsome  exertions,  employ  it  in  studying  the 
weaknesses  of  the  multitude  in  order  to  profit  by  them. 
The  masses  have  no  judgment,  consequently  make  them 
accept  yours ;  they  are  superficial  and  thoughtless,  hence 
beware  of  being  profound  and  crediting  them  with  any 
ability  for  mental  labor ;  they  are  dull-witted,  hence  you 
must  appear  upon  the  scene  with  such  commotion  that 
even  dull  ears  must  hear  you,  and  dim  eyes  see  3'ou  ;  they 
do  not  understand  sarcasm,  but  accept  everything  literally ; 
lience  you  must  say  distinctly  and  in  the  plainest  terms, 
whatever  3'ou  have  to  say  bad  about  your  rivals  and  good 
aliout  3'ourself ;  they  have  no  memory,  so  you  can  make, 
use  unconcernedly  of  every  means  that  will  help  you  on 
towards  the  goal.  When  you  have  once  reached  the  goal, 
no  one  will  ever  remember  how  you  got  there.  With  these 
principles  you  will  become  wealthy  and  great,  and  it  will 
be  w^ell  with  vou  on  the  earth." 

If  only  some  scholar  whom  I  am  initiating  into  the 
mysteries  of  success  does  not  happen  upon  the  impertinent 
idea  of  asking  me :    '^  As  you  know  so  well  how  it  is  done, 


HOAV  THE   SOUP  IS  PREPARED. 


115 


you  must  have  progressed  very  far  yourself? "....  This 
would  cause  me  some  embaiTassment  I  could  only  re- 
ply then:  "I  have  seen  others  attain  success,  and  that 
is  enough  for  me.  Standing  in  the  kitchen  to  see  the  soup 
prepared,  one  is  apt  to  lose  his  appetite.  But  he  may 
be  willing  for  others  to  eat  it,  nevertheless." 


I 


ifi'' 


ii.*t 


THE    PSYCHO-PHYSIOLOGY    OF 
GENIUS    AND    TALENT. 


I  must  clefiee,  and  with  as  much  precision  as  possible, 
the  ideas  around  wliich  revolve  the  observations  to  whieli 
this  chapter  is  devoted.  What  is  talent?  Uliiit  is  genius? 
The  repl}'  to  this  querj'  consists  usually  of  unintelligible 
phrases  in  which  nouns  expressing  admiration,  and  appre- 
ciative adjectives  predominate.  We  ought  not  to  rest  sat- 
isfied with  this.  We  do  not  want  any  complimentarj' 
oratorical  fiourishes,  but  an  honest  explanation.  I  think 
we  shall  be  approximating  the  truth  very  nearly  if  we  say 
thai  a  being  of  talent  is  one  who  performs  those  actions 
which  are  generally  or  frequently  practiced,  better  than 
the  majority  of  those  who  have  tried  to  attain  the  same 
proficiency ;  a  genius  is  a  man  who  invents  new  modes  of 
action,  never  before  attempted,  or  else  practices  an  old 
faculty  in  some  entirely  original,  extremely  individual 
manner.  I  speak  of  a  talented  being  and  a  man  of  genius, 
intentionally.  Talent  does  not  seem  to  me  in  any  way  re- 
stricted to  the  human  race.  It  exists  beyond  all  question 
in  the  animal  kingdom  as  well.  A  poodle  that  can  be 
trained  to  more  complicated  and  artistic  tricks  than  other 
dogs  is  a  being  of  talent ;  likewise  a  robin  redbreast  or  a 
blackbird,  that  sings  better  than  his  comrades;  or  even  a 
pike  that  pui-sues  his  prey  with  greater  siiciess,  or  a  glow- 
worm that  shines  more  brightly.     Gt»nius,  on  the  cnutrar}', 


BEFTNITTON   OF  TALENT   AND   GENroS. 


117 


is  only  conceivable  in  man,  in  so  far  as  it  manifests  its 
presence  in  individuals.     It  consists  in  the  fact  that  an 
individual  strikes  out  a  new  path  for  himself,  never  trodden 
before  to  use  the  familiar  phrase.    And  this,  as  far  as  can 
iK^  determined  by  human  observation,  not  a  single  animal 
has  ever  done.     It  may  be  sometimes  aecompUBhed  by 
races     They  may  thus  be  endowed  with  genius  m  com- 
mon *    The  whole  svstem  of  living  beings  most  cerUunly 
does  accomplish  it.     The  evolution  of  organisms  from  the 
one-celled  being  up  to  man,  proves  this.     We  can  thus  as- 
sert that  the  orjraniv.  worid  in  its  entirety  is  endowed  with 
'cenius,  that  evolution  and  the  possession  of  genius  are  sy- 
nonymous terms,  and  the  theory  of  the  Descc'ut  of  Man  is 
merc^lv  a  recognition  and  proclamation  of  the  sway  ot  a 
genius  in  the  oroanic  worid.     It  is  certain  that  even  in  the 
hidividual  animal  a  limited  f^v(Mlom  of  development  does 
exist -an  impulse  to  deviate  from  the  inherited  tribal 
type '-for  the  changes  in  the  construction  and  functions 
of  species,  which  we  perceive  after  ages  of  development, 
must  have  been  accomplished  in  the  indiviih.als  after  all 
But  the  deviation  from  the  established  type  and  the  effort 
towards  a  new,  is  so  exceedingly  slight  in  the  individual 
animal  that  we  must  overiook  it,  because  we  really  can  n(>t 
take  coc.  uizance  of  it.     If  a  bee  w(Te  to  construct  an  eight- 
or  four-sided  cell,  instead  of  a  six-sided  one,  or  a  swallow 
to  invent  a  new  shaped  nest,  or  if  an  ox  were  to  prefer  to 
die  rather  than  l>e  harnessed  into  a  yoke- they  would 
manifest  genius.     But  the  worid  has  never  yet  seen  any- 
thin-  of  the  kind,  while  it  most  certainly  has  seen  human 
beings  who  were  successful  in  accomplishing  similar  devi- 
ations from  the  inherited  modes  of  action. 

The  difference  between  the  talented  individual  and 
the  -enius,  is  thus  one  of  quality,  not  of  quantity.  It  does 
not  escape  mv  attention,  however,  that  this  diflerence  could 


k.    f 


118      THE   PSYrilO-PIirsiO'LOCJY   OF  fJENIlTS  AN'D  TALENT. 

be  uldmiitelv  IriU'tMl  to  .i  inore  or  less,  in  cvc-rv  instance,  if 
we  carried  our  investi^i^iitioiis  xcrj*  far  into  tlie  essence  of 
things.  To  illustrate  this  :  a  man  nnist  possess  a  certiiin 
amount  of  memorv,  will  awl  judgment  to  Iks  a  i)rofessor  of 
histor}'.  But  these  f|ualities  combined  only  make  a  suc- 
cessfid  mediocrity,  at  best  onl\'  a  respectable  degree  of 
tident  But  if  the}'  exist  in  an  unusual  amount,  the  one 
who  thus  possesses  them  ma}'  live  to  become  a  great 
statesman,  a  ruler  of  men,  he  ma}'  (»ven  turn  the  course  of 
tlie  liistory  of  the  world,  and  he  must  be  considered  a 
genius.  Tt  is  a  fact  that  the  difference  is  based  upon  the 
vai^'ing  amounts  of  i\m  s:ime  qualities  only,  but  it  is  such 
a  vast  difference,  that  tlie  two  merely  quantitatively  differ- 
entiated phenomena  produce  the  impression  of  being 
entirely  unlike  in  their  very  nature,  and  not  tearing  the 
slightest  affinity  one  to  the  other.  In  the  same  way  the 
diflerence  between  Mont  Blane  and  a  grain  of  quartz  sand 
is  ofdy  quantitative.  At  Ixittom  they  are  one  and  the 
same.  The  quartz  grain  would  only  have  to  be  big 
enough,  to  be  Mont  Blane ;  the  mounbdn  would  only  have 
to  shrink  to  an  infinitesimal  size,  to  te  the  grain  of  sand. 
And  yet  we  find  that  the  mere  difference  in  size  is  sufficient 
to  produce  two  such  nulicalli-  different  objects  as  Mont 
Blanc  and  the  grain  of  sand,  out  of  thinsrs  that  are  identical 
in  composition. 

I  have  alread3-  attempted  to  prove  in  the  eliaptjer, 
"Majority  and  Minority,"  that  not  ever)'  oi^auism  is  capa- 
ble of  responding  to  impressions  arriving  from  without, 
with  an  individual,  new  and  non-inherited  reaction  of  the 
nervous  and  muscular  s^-stem,  that  is,  l)j-  thoughts  and 
actions.  Only  an  organism  e8i)ecially  perfectly  con- 
structed, especially  rich  in  vital  energy,  is  able  to  accom- 
plish this.  The  genius — ^whose  essence  T  imagine  I  perceive 
in  the  ability  to  assimilate  the  pencirtions  obtained  from 


GENIUS  LEADS,  ALL  OTHERS  FOLLOW. 


119 


the  world  without  in  an  original  way-thus  presupposes  a 
hicrher  organic  development.     The  key-board  of  his  nitel- 
lect  has  one  more   octave,  as  it  were.     No   amount   of 
industry,  no  amount  of  practice  can  produce  this  longer 
extension.     It  must  be  part  of  the  original  construction. 
GcHjthe  remarks  lightly  and  in  the  most  innocent  way  pos- 
sible:    "Grasp  the   oxhaustless   life   that  all  men  live! 
Where'er  you  touch,  there's  interest  without  end.'     The 
"Merrj- Andrew,"  in  whose  mouth  he  places  this  sentence, 
is  evidently  fond  of  a  joke.    The  remark  sounds  very  na.ve, 
and  is  in  fact  the  proud  vainglory  of  a  sublime  self-con- 
sciousness.     "Grasp   the   exhaustless   life  that   all   men 
live         "    Indeed  !    The  receipt  is  a  well-tried  one,  but  it 
requires  a  genius  to  follow  it.     An  ordinaiy  man,  or  even 
a  talented  man,  has  no  idea  how  to  go  to  work  to  make 
this  grasp,  and  if  he  attempts  it,  will  withdraw  his  hand 
empty     This  is  because  the  average  man,  and  I  include 
the  man  of  fcilent  in  this  class,  does  not  see  the  world  at 
all  but  only  the  reflection  of  it  in  the  eyes  of  the  gemus 
He  does  not  see  "the  exhaustless  human  life"  in  actual 
presence,  standing  out  in  relief  before  him,  but  only  as  a 
8ha<low  picture  thrown  on  the  wall  by  the  magic  lantern 
of  genius.     He  may  try  to  grasp  these  bright  colored  and 
shifting  shadows,  he  will  get  nothing  in  his  hand.  -  The  phe- 
nomena of  the  world  form  a  raw  material  which  the  average 
man  is  unable  to  handle,  and  out  of  which  genius  alone 
can  make  anything  that  finally  the  former  will  be  able  to 
understand.     If  the  average  man  sees  certain  things  and 
events  in  systematic  combinations,  it  is  because  gemus 
has  arranged   the  combinations;    if  life  and  the  world 
appear  to  him  in  the  form  of  pictures  which  he  can  pass 
in  review  before  him,  it  is  because  genius  has  collected 
and  framed  them.     He  feels,  criticises  an.l  acts  as  some 
genius  before  him,  felt,  crilicisod  an.l  t.-trd  for  the  first 


mem 


^^    / 


■lllljll 


i  I 

m 


120      THE   I'SYf'H(J-Pin'SIi)i:oitY  OF  aENTtlS  AND  TALENT. 

time.  Tlirtse  objects  whieli  the  genius  litis  not  oi^aiiieall}' 
inanlpulatetl,  lie  passes  liy  without  iM»iX'ei\'iug,  witliout  ex- 
|ierienc!iij2:  any  sensations  from  them,  without  criticising 
them. 

I  can  not  make  these'  eirenmstanees  any  clearer  than 
by  an  illustration  from  the  organic  worhl     Those  sul>- 
stances  that  every  li¥iiig  being  requires  for  its  sustenance 
— carton  and  nitrogen — exist  everywhere  on  the  earth  in 
enormons  quantities,  but  animals  can  not  make  use  of 
them  in  any  way  in  the  fonn  in  which  nature  first  offers 
them.     An  animal  would  ijerish  in  an  atmosphere  too 
heavily  laden  with  earlwnic  acid,  and  on  a  soil  too  rich  in 
nitric  salts.     Plants  alone  are  able  to  make  use  of  these 
raw  materials  for  piiriwses  of  nourishment,  and  among 
plants,  only  those  containing  chlorophyl     Not  until  the 
plants  have  oi)erate*l  iqion  the  earl)on  and  nitrogen  in  their 
own  organisms,  do  tlie  latter  iMiconie   litteil  to  lie  the 
nourishment  of  animals.     Precisely  similar  are  the  rela- 
tions between  the  genius  and  the  non-genius,  the  latter  in- 
cluding the  men  of  tolent     The  non-genius  is  not  able  to 
digest  nature,  to  assimilate  it,  to  transform  it  into  elements 
of  his  own  consciousness.     He  sees  objects,  but  he  forms 
no  picture  out  of  them ;  he  hears,  but  ho  does  not  grasp 
and  understand.     The  genius,  on  the  contrary,  has  a  cer- 
tain something  within  him,  a  clilompiiyl,  as  it  were,  which 
rendiH-s  him  capable  of  fomiing  finished  pictures  out  of  the 
plienomena  observed,  wliich  the  average  human  intellect  is 
then  able  to  receive  into  its  consciousness.     Darwin  gives 
lis  an  amazing  picture  of  the  life  on  the  entirely  naked  St. 
Paul  reef  ill  tlie  middle  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  in  the  first 
chapter  of  his  **  Naturalist  around  the  World."    Two  kinds 
of  liinls  make  there  their  nests,  the  booby  and  a  kind  of 
sea-swallow,  tlie  white-head.     But  a  certain  species  of  fly, 
a  tick  and  a  moth  live  as  parasites  on  these  birtls ;  a  kind 


THE    ST.    TAIL    REEF. 


121 


of  dung-beetle  and  a  wood-louse  derive  their  iiourisliment 
from  their  dung ;  numerous  web-spinning  species  pre\-  on 
the  flies  and  moths,  and  we  can  add,  what  Darwin  does  not 
mention,  that  a  whole  world  of  microscopic  beings,  such  as 
infusoria,  cocci  and  bacteria  is  certainly  swarming  around 
these  higher  animals.     All  that  was  necessary,  then,  was 
the  arrival  of  one  bird  to  transform  the  desolate  St.  Paul 
reef  into  a  home  for  a  long  train  of  living  beings,  which 
without  the  bird  could  not  have  survived  a  single  day 
tlurc.     A  precisely  similar  occurrence  is  that  of  the  evolu- 
tion of  a  system  of  literature  in  a  nation.     Some  genius, 
with  the  menUd  digesting  tipparatus  peculiar  to  him  alone, 
takes  the  impressions  i)erceived,  and  transibrnis  them  into 
a  literary  master-piece,  comprehensible  to  all.     Immedi- 
ately a  whole  swarm  of   parasitical   beings   spring   into 
existence     First  ciniie  the  imitators,  who  copy  the  original 
work  with  more  or  less  skill.     They  are  like  the  flies  and 
ticks  who  subsist  upon   the   sea-swallow's   blood.     Then 
come  the  critical  and  esthetic  schools  which  ik.  longer 
have  anything  to  do  with  naked  nature,  but  devote  them- 
selves exclusivelv  to  the  results  of  the  digestion  of  this 
irilure  bv  the  genius  and  his  imitators.     These  are  like  the 
spiders  who  follow  the  flies,  and  the  dung-lieetles  who  live 
on  the  guano.     And  last  of  all  come  the  historians  of  liter- 
•iture  who  proceed  to  relate  with  immense  importance  how 
everything  came  to  pass.     I  can  not  find  the  living  being 
on  the  St.  Paul's  reef  at  the  moment,  to  correspond  with 
these,  as  I  do  not  quite  venture  to  compare  tliein  to  the 
microbes.     Thus  we  have  a  grand  national  literature,  with 
estheiic  works  of  the  second  rank,  with  esthetic  systems. 
with  clever,  critical  works,  with  histories  of  literature  and 
special  essays  on  isolated  passages  in  them,  with  learned 
commentaries  on  all  these  books,  and  with  a  whole  tram 
of  professors  who  make  their  living  by  lecturing  upon 


W' 


if 


I i 


122     THE   FSYCilO-PHYSIOLOOY  OF  OENIUS  AND  TALENT. 

tlieiii  with  great  prof  nudity,  from  year's  end  to  year's  end, 
and  all  these  literary  pi-ocluctions,  with  their  living  train  of 
learned  men,  have  their  origin  and  their  excuse  for  being, 
solely  in  the  creations  of  some  honest  genius,  who  was 
neither  a  learned  man  nor  a  professor,  wlio  produced  his 
masterpiece  as  an  apple-tree  lieara  apples,  just  because  it 
was  oi^anieally  in  liini  to  produce  it,  and  all  the  rest 
of  the  little  folks  who  followed  after  him  would  not  have 
known  enough  to  say  Bah!  to  naked  nature  placed  in 
front  of  them,  and  they  would  not  even  have  ni;ule  their 
appearance  any  more  than  the  scanty  animal  life  on  the 
St.  Paul  reef,  without  the  bird  that  alone  made  existence 
there  possible  to  ii 

Genius  thus  depends  on  a  primarily  more  exalted 
organic  development ;  talent  on  an  extreme  cultivation — 
attained  by  industry  and  practice— of  the  natural  faculties 
possessed  by  the  majority  of  sound  and  nonnal  individuals 
in  a  given  race.  But  if  I  were  now  to  assert  that  genius 
has  a  pliysiological,  structural  foundation,  the  I'eader 
would  be  justified  in  asking  me  what  the  structural  tissue 
could  be,  whose  more  exuberant  development  produced 
genius.  This  question  looks  rather  formidable,  but  yet  it 
might  not  be  so  difficult  to  answer,  perhaps,  if  genius  or 
talent  were  simple  phenomena.  We  could  then  obtain  the 
answer  to  the  problem  by  a  very  simple  method.  In  one 
case  we  find  a  remarkably  fine  memory,  In  another,  an  ex- 
traordinary will;  in  these  two  cases  the  brain  centres 
which  represent  the  memor}-  or  the  will  are  thus  excep- 
tionally developed.  As  to  which  are  these  centres,  we  are 
not  fully  informed  at  present,  but  they  will  \m  found  in 
time,  and  we  are  already  on  the  track  of  several.  In  this 
way  it  would  be  mere  child  s  play  to  analyze  and  explain 
the  exceptional  intellectual  phenomena.  Yes,  but  un- 
fortunately the  matter  is  not  such  a  simple  one.    Genius 


I'L. 


THE  STRUCTURAL  SUPPORT  OF  GENIUS. 


123 


and  talent  are  extremely  complex  phenomena  ;  very  larely 
do  they  declare  themselves  by  the  prominent  manifesta- 
tion of  some  single  principal  mental  faculty ;  even  if  such  a 
fticulty  does  predominate  in  most  cases,  and  can  be  deter- 
mined by  careful  investigation,  there  are  almost  always  sev- 
eral principal  faculties  engaged  in  producing  the  combined 
effect  of  genius  or  talent,  although  in  unequal  degrees,  and 
the  different  proportions  in  which  they  enter   into  the 
composition  produce  such  different  results,  that  it  is  often 
extremely  difficult  to  decide  from  them  what  were  their 
organic  causes.     The   whole   art  of  physiologically  ana- 
lyzing genius,  as  well  as  talent,  will  thus  consist  of  resolv- 
ing what  appeal's  to  be  a  homogeneous  whole  into  its 
elementaiy  factors  and  tracing  these  latter  to  their  source 
in  the  organism. 

Every  educated  person  knows  now-a-days  that  our 
central  nci-vous  system,  that  is,  the  cerebrum  and  cere- 
bellum, the  medulla  oblongata,  the  spinal  cord,  and  the 
sensorv-  and  motor  nerves,  does  not  form  one  continuous 
orgtln  with  one  simple  function,  like  the  heart  or  the  kid- 
neys, for  instance,  but  a  combination  of  numerous  organs, 
similar  in  regard  to  their  construction  but  with  entirely 
different  functions.     It  resembles,  as  a  whole,  the  system 
of  digestion.     The  whole  mechanism  of    the   digestive 
organs,   from   the  entrance  to  the  exit,   with  all  their 
auxiliaries,  forms  one  single  apparatus,  the  different  parts 
of  which  all  work  together  with  the  purpose  of  rendernig 
the  nutriment  received  fit  for  the  construction  and  mainte- 
nance of  the  organism,  by  mechanical  and  chemical  changes 
adapted  to  the  end  in  view.     But  how  dissimilar  are  the 
separate  constituent  parts  of  this  grand  apparatus  !     TUe 
salivary  glands  have  nothing  in  common  with  the  pancreas 
and  the  liver ;  the  stomach  is  arranged  in  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent manner  from  the  duodenum ;  the  gastric  glands 


P:  I'IPI 


124     THE  PSYCIIfFPHYSlOLOflY  OF  O'ENIUS  AND  TALENT. 

differ  in  every   resixiei   irom  the   intestinal    absorbents. 
Hero  a  licinid  is  oxt-reted.  wliieli  tniiisfornis  stjireh  into 
sugar;  in  anotlier  plate  ii  similar  liquid,  whicli  renders  tlie 
insoluble  allininen  dissolvable.    Here  is  some  tissue  whose 
exclusive  function  is  to  move  the  f<Mxl-matter  along ;  near 
by  Is  another  which  has  to  close  the  way  to  it,  to  effect  a 
temporary  slay,  and  still  another  is  occupied  in  absorbing 
alone.     In  the  same  way  the  central  neiTous  system  in  ite 
entirety  performs  the  grand,  complex  function  of  affording 
communication  betwet^n  the  Ego  and  the  Non  Ego,  or  to 
express  it  in  less  technical  terms,  Ijetween  tlie  external 
world  and  the  individual,  translbrming  impressions  into 
(•«>nsciousncss  aud  allcjwing  this  consciousness  to  act  in 
return  upon   the  external   world.     But  this  function  is 
divided    into    numerous    and    very    dissimilar    separate 
branchcstif  duty,  which  are  performed  by  entirely  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  brain  and  spinal  marrow.     I  will  explain 
this  by  a  single  instance.     Let  us  take  tlie  sense  of  sight. 
Any  one  looking  at  this  subject  from  an  unprofessional 
IKiint  of  view  would  probably  thinlc  it  a  very  simple  ^mat- 
ter to  pick  up  a  newspaper  and  read  what  was  printed  on 
it.    That  he  would  not  be  able  to  do  this  if  he  were  blind, 
Is  also  self-evident  to  him.     But  lie  would  perhaps  l>e  very 
much  astonished  if  he  were  told  tliut  a  seeing  eye  is  not 
all  tliat  is  necessary  to  iierform  the  act  of  reading,  that  the 
cooperation  of  a  series  of  other  organs,  situated  in  the 
brain,  is  recpircd  also,  and  that  reading  is  impossil)le  if 
even  a  single  one  of  these  organs  fails  to  work  properly. 
The  ball  of  the  e\e  serves  as  a  sort  of  a  diu-k  chamljer 
uijon  the  rear  wall  of  which  falls  the  image  of  the  extxjroal 
world,  diminislied  in  size  and  as  distinct  as  possible.    This 
background  is  an  expansion  of  the  optic  nerve  which  trans- 
mits to  the  bmin  the  impression  received,  that  is,  the  image 
aist  on  the  retina.    The  impression  is  felt  at  a  ceitain  spot 


DISSECTING   THE   ACT   OF   SEEING. 


125 


in  tlie  brain,  which  is  most  prol^ubly  situated  in  the  rear  of 
what  is  called  the  proper  ganglia.    The  impression  is  linally 
comprehended  at  still  another  point  which  may  lie  m  the 
lower  left  lobe  of  the  brain,  as  the  investigations  ot  Kuss- 
maiil  Westphal  and  others  have  determined  with  consider- 
able appearance  of  accuracy.     The  eye  thus  reflects  the  ex- 
ternal world  -,  the  reflected  image  is  transmitted  l)y  the  optic 
nerve  to  the  proper  ganglia;  the  ganglia  transform  the 
reflected   image  into  a  sense-perception,  which  is  trans- 
ferred to  the  gray  l)rain-matter  aud,  after  being  operated 
upon  by  the  latter.  V)eeomcs  a  conscious  idea.     If  the  eye 
is  incapable  of  performing  its  duty  the  image  is  reflected 
to  no  puri)ose,  and  the  communication  between  the  Lgo 
and  the  Non  Ego  by  this  means,  the  sense  of  sight,  ceases 
entirely      If  the  optic  nerve  is  diseased  tlie  external  world 
is  reflected  on  the  proper  place,  it  is  true,  but  the  image  foils 
to  l>e  transmitted  to  the  spot  where  it  is  first  U^\t     It  the 
rear  pait  of  the  proper  ganglia  is  out  of  order,  the  image 
niav  reach  the  brain,  but  there  is  no  one  there  to  receive 
it  MS  it  were;  it  is  as  if  there  were  telegraph  coinmuniea- 
tioii  and  no  receiving  instrument  in  the  receiving  office. 
The  image  is  then  not  felt.     If,  however,  the  brain  matter 
in  the  lower  left  lo])e  he  disorganized,  the  image  will  l)e  telt 
but  not  understood,  its  signiticance  not  realized.  •  The  man 
may  see,  but  he  will  not  know  what  he  is  seeing.     It  is  as 
if  continuing  the  simile  of  the  telegraph,  the  receiving  in- 
strument were  in  place  and  the  dispatch  duly  received  at 
the  office    but  it  could  not  be  delivered  to  the  persim 
•iddressed.    Thus  it  is  with  every  single  eflbrt  of  the  mind, 
every  act  of  the  will  every  sentiment  and  every  idea,  and 
liowever  plain  and  simple  each  effort  may  appear,  in  reality 
it  is  something  verv  complicated,  in  the  realization  of  which 
the  numerous  parts,  that  is,  organs,  of  the  central  nervous 
Bvstem.  materially  unlike  in  structure,  all  play  their  part. 


126      THE   FSYCllO-PlIYSlOLOtiY  OP  GENIUS  AND   TALENT. 

These  sepiinite  orgaES  situated  in  the  spinal  conl  and 
the  brain  are  called  centres,  and  they  have  been  classified 
aci-onliiig  to  their  iinportiince.     We  si»ak  of  higher  and 
lower  centres.     Their  station  on  the  ladder  of  rank  is 
of  coni-se  determined  by  the  fiinction  they  are  destinetl 
to  perform.    But  the  estimate  of  the  value  of  these  func- 
tions is  based  not  upon  their  imi}ortance  in  the  preser- 
vation of  life,  but  upon  the  share  they  have  in  producing 
the  specifically  human  attiibutes.     There  are  certain  fac- 
ulties possessed  by  man  alone ;  for  example,  the  faculty 
of  abstract  thought  and  speech.     Others  that  he  possesses 
iu  common  with  the  animals;  for  example,  the  memory 
and  the  will.     And  there  are  still  others  which  he  shares 
with  all  living  beings ;  for  example,  nutrition  and  procre- 
ation.   (01  couree  it  is  not  to  be  understood  that  even  the 
most  sijecifically  human  of  id!  our  powers,  thus  even  the 
example  just  mentioned,  abstract  thought  or  si>eech,  are 
necessarily  exclusively  human,  because  they  appear  fully 
develoijcd  in  man,  and  there  is  no  trace  of  them  in  the 
animals  below  him  in  rank.     According  to  Romane,  the 
English  animal  psychologist,  it  is  rather  a  matter  beyond 
all  question,  that  the  intellectual  activity  of  our  race  is 
merely  the  intellectual  activity  of  animals  cultivated  to  a 
Mgher  degree,  and  that  even  in  this  as  well  as  in  every- 
thing else,  nature  has  only  the  grand  general  lines  of  unin- 
terrupted development  with  no  chasms  and  gaps.    But 
this  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  this  matter  at  length.)    The 
imiik  of  a  function  and  consequently  of  the  nerve  centre 
whicli  controls  it,  is  thus  in  an  inverse  ratio  to  its  distribu- 
tion in  the  organic  world  and  its  importance  to  the  preser- 
vation of  life.    Without  the  coarser  and  more  delicate 
alimentary  processes,  that  is,  without  digestion,  respira- 
tion and  tlie  circulation  of  the  blood,  the  organism  could 
not  exist  for  a  moment.    But  the  digestive  centres  in  the 


RANKS  OF  THE  NERVE  CENTRES. 


127 


i^aiiglia  of  the  so-called  sympathetic  nerve,  and  the  centres 
of  the  action  of  the  luuscles  of  the  chest  and  heart  iu  the 
medulhi  oblongata,  are  considered  the  lowest  of  all.     The 
movements  of  the  limbs  and  especially  tlie  proper  combi- 
nation of  these  movements  to  produce  the  acts  of  walking, 
grasping,  etc.,  are  of  great  importance  to  the  individual, 
but  still  he  could  live  without  them.     But  the  centres  of 
muscular  activity  and  their  harmonious  action  (coordina- 
tion is  the  technical  term)  in  the  spinal  cord,  and  probably 
in  the  peduncles  of  the  cerebrum,  perhaps  also  in  the 
cerebellum,  are  the  next  highest  in  rank.     The  memory,  the 
faculty  of  judgment  and  the  imagination,  in  conclusion,  are 
not  at  all  inevitable  conditions  of  life,  but  are  delightful  lux- 
uries ;  the  individual  can  continue  to  exist  very  comfortaljly 
years  and  even  tens  of  years  without  them  ;  but  their  nerve 
centres  in  the  gray  cerebral  matter  rank  the  highest  of  all. 
This  classification  is  b}'  no  means  arl)itrary  ;  it  is  justified 
by  facts.     The  more  common  and  necessary  a  function  is, 
the  simpler  and  coarser  the  organs  for  it ;  as  the  f mictions 
become  more  individual  and  differentiated,  the  organs  be- 
come more  delicate,  more  complicated  and  therefore  more 
fragile.      A   plough   is   a   more    important  necessity    of 
life,  and  is  used  by  more  persons  than  a  watch,  and  the 
watch  is  more  necessary  and  more  widely  distributed  than 
a  "precision  instrument"  made  for  the  purpose  of  compar- 
ing a  meter  stick  with  the  Paris  standard  meter.     But  the 
plough  is  much  coarser  and  simpler  than  the  watch,  and 
the  latter  is  much  coarser  and  simpler  than  the  -  [)recision 
instrument."    It  is  not  an  easy  matter  to  destroy  a  plough ; 
a  watch  must  be  handled  more  gently,  but  it  will  stand 
many  a  hard  knock ;  the  "precision  instrument"  is  thrown 
into  disorder  by  even  the  shaking  of  the  ground  caused  by 
a  caiTiage  driving  past  at  a  distance.     The  case  is  the 
same  in  regard  to  the  nerve  centres.    The  more  individual, 


1*1 


'  If 
if 


ft.   / 


m 

11 


128      THE    PSYCEU-l'ilVSlOLiKiY    OF  GENIUS  AND  TALENT. 

the  more  sptjeiJil  iiud  t«xflusive  tlie  tusk  reciiiin-d  of  tliem, 
tlie  more  coiiipliciiteil,  tlie  more  tlelicate  and  couseciueiitly 
tlie  more  fragile  they  are.     Nutrition  is  a  coai-se  fuiu- 
tion,  for  iiistaEce.     Strietly  speaking,  it  does  not  re(iuirc 
any  special  organs,  as  we  miglit  also  dig  a  furrow  without 
any  plough,  with  merely  a  ploughshare,  a  stick  or  a  stone, 
or  even  with  the  bare  hand,  but  of  course  not  so  easily  or 
conveniently  as  with  a  plough.     The  simplest  little  lump 
of  protoplasm  has  the  ijower  of  receiving  nutriment,  using 
the  word  iu  its  broadest  sense,  by  absorbing  solid,  fluid, 
and  gaseous  matter,  and  thus  also  of  digesting  and  lucatli- 
iug.     If  we  require  a  highly  complicated  apparatus  for  tliis 
IMJrforinaEce,  such  as  tlie  system  of  the  circulation  of  the 
liloml,  of  respiration  an.I  digestion,  it  is  only  because  our  or- 
iitinism  has  necessarily  more  coniplieated  tasks  to  ijerforra 
tlian  a  lump  of  protoplasm,  and  is  organized  with  a  view  lo 
a  division  of  labor,  as  a  cabinet  minister,  for  instance,  ha.s 
neither  the  time  to  cook  his  own  dinner  uor  to  mend  his 
clothes,  mattci-s  whicli  a  Neapolitan  beggar,  on  the  other 
hand,  can  attend  to  very  well.     At  the  same  time,  even  in 
our  complicated  organism,  which  operates  with  such  an 
extensive  division  of  labor,  the  process  of  alimentation  is 
a  common  and  simple  matter,  and  the  ner\  e  centres  eon- 
trolling  it  are  so  coarse  that  they  resist  destruetive  influ- 
ences the  longest,  and  are  in  fact  tlie  last  to  die.     The 
centres  of  movement  are  also  rather  low.  an<l  arc  tlid'elbre 
strong  in  proportion.     Very   little  is  required  of  those 
centres  which  are  in  the  spinal  cord.     When  tlie  sensory 
nerves  convey  the  information  to  them  that  some  external 
force  is  acting  somewhere  upon  tlie  luxly,  nianilesting  itseli' 
in  the  tiinn  of  a  simple  contact  or  of  a  pain,— they  lia\'c  to 
cause  certain  groups  of  muscles  to  contract,  to  prevent  tliis 
in  others,  and  in  this  way  to  produce  a  movement  juUq)ted 
to  the  end  in  view,  which  is  lo  remove  the  body  beyond 


VOLFTtON   ANP   CONSCTOrSNESS. 


129 


the  reach  of  the  external  force.  This  is  called  a  reflex 
movement.  It  occurs  without  volition,  without  even  the 
knowledge  of  the  consciousness.  A  frog  whose  brain  has 
been  removed  can  perform  it.  The  centres  of  motion  are 
limited  in  intelligence,  not  to  say  stupid.  They  are  not 
able  to  distinguish  the  motive  cause  of  the  information 
brought  to  them.  Tliey  are  only  able  to  respond  to  the 
external  excitation  with  the  simplest  efforts  of  motion.  If 
the  body  can  remain  exposed  to  the  external  force  without 
danger  of  injury,  a  higher  nerve  centre  has  to  command 
them  to  keep  still.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  simple  with- 
drawal is  not  suflScient,  if  the  body  is  to  run  or  jump  away 
to  escape  from  some  external  influence,  a  higher  centre 
must  again  command  them  to  set  in  motion  the  proper 
groups  of  muscles  whose  combined  action  is  to  produce 
the  running  or  jumping.  And,  last  of  all,  those  centres  in 
the  brain  whose  sole  purpose  is  to  produce  volition  and 
consciousness,  are  the  highest  of  ail.  as  their  work  is  the 
most  varied  and  the  most  complicated,  besides  being  ex- 
clusively human,  and  requires,  to  be  correctly  performed, 
such  an  accurate  concerted  action  of  so  many  delicate  parts, 
that  even  verv  slight  influences  suffice  to  disturb  tlie  ultra- 
sensitive  apparatus,  the  same  as  a  very  slight  impression 
will  start  it.  The  higher  a  nerve  centre,  the  later  ft  devel- 
opes  to  maturity,  the  longer  the  organism  works  to  per- 
fect it,  and  it  wears  out  the  earliest.  The  classification 
of  the  nei-ve  centres  is  thus  not  an  arbitrary  one.  It 
is  not  determined  by  an  individual  opinion  in  regard  to  the 
greater  or  less  importance  of  their  functions,  but  is  drawn 
from  their  very  nature.  A  quibbler  might  say  :  "  Opinion 
versus  opinion— I  rank  the  centre  of  nutrition  higher 
than  the  centres  of  memory  or  Judgment.  '  The  reply 
would  have  to  be,  that  his  personal  inclinations  were  lead- 
ing him  into  en-or,  that  the  centre  of  nutrition  could  not 


I^.A 


111 


1 


13CI      THE   FSYCHO-FHYBtOLOay  OF   OENIUfi  AND  TALENT. 

possibl}-  l)e  the  higher,  because  it  is  (listribiited  throughout 
the  wliole  of  the  aoiinal  kingdoiii,  tecause  it  appears  at  the 
first  moment  of  individual  existence  and  hists  to  the  ex- 
treme limits  of  the  organism's  decaj,  and  i^erforras  an 
invariably  regular  task,  never  individually  modified,  while 
the  eentres  of  memory  and  judgment  do  not  apiiear  except 
in  the  higher  animals,  and  in  the  individual  do  not  make 
themselves  manifest  until  a  certiun  degree  of  development 
is  attaiutHl ;  because  as  a  rule  they  become  (IhIUmI  and  use- 
less liefore  the  matural  death  of  the  organism,  jukI  Inicause 
the  work  they  i^erform  must  confoim  to  all  changes  in  the 
sun-onnding  eireum stances. 

The  new  Darwinitiu  biology  wnsiders  t»ven  the  high- 
est animal  organism,  that  of  man,  as  merely  a  colony  of 
simple  living   Ijeings,  witli  :i  comprehensive  division  of 
lalior,  and  a  tliffereuce  between  Mie  individual  colonists 
depending  directly  ui>on  this  distribution  of  tasks.     Pri- 
marilv,  each  cell  of  which  we  consist,  is  an  organism  in 
itself,*  wliicli  can  do  everything  that  an  organism,  wishing 
to  continue  to  exist,  Ima  to  do ;  the  cell  can  receive  and 
assimiliite  nourishment,  it  can  propagate  in  the  simplest 
way,  by  partition,  and  it  can  move  by  contracting  its  pro- 
toplasm.    But  when  countless  millions  condiine  to  form 
an  nniniid  or  human  organism,  tliey   pmeeed  to  divide 
among  themselves  these  dittbrent  occupations,  so  that  each 
one  can  perfonn  but  a  certain  appointe*!  task,  forgets  how 
to  perform  any  other,  and  as  a  consequence,  would  have 
to  perish  if  the  other  cells  did  not  do  for  it  what  it  is  no 
longer  able  to  do  for  itself.     The  red  blood  corpuscle  can 
absorb  oxygen  and  convey  it  to  all  the  tissues,  but  it  has 
ceased  U»  lie  able  to  move  and  pix>pagate.     The  muscular 
fibre  can  move  and  drag  the  rest  of  the  formations  of  the 
body  along  witli  it,  liut  it  could  not  alisorit  unprepared 
nutritive  matter  from  nature,  and  could  not  propagate,  etc. 


1  '*) 


EVERY  OEGANISM   A   COLONY. 


131 


With  all  the  equality  that  originally  prevailed  between 
the  elementary  parts,  or,  to  retain  the  term  used  above,  be- 
tween the  citizens  of  the  colony,  a  very  strict  system  of 
ranks  has  since  been  developed.    The  organism  is  a  compli- 
cated system  of  society,  with  proletarians,  citizens,  and 
reigning  classes.     It  includes  elements  which  represent  the 
most  varied  stages  of  development  in  animal  life.  The  blood 
corpuscles  and  lymph  cells  rank  no  higher  than  bacteria, 
with  whom,  by  the  way,  they  often  have  to  contend,  and  by 
whom  tliey  arc  sometimes  defeated,  although  as  a  rule,  they 
prove  themselves  the  strongest.     Man's  spinal  cord  ranks 
no  higher  than  a  frog's,  his  sensory  centre  no  higher  than 
a  monkey's,  his  language  centre  no  higher  than  that  of  a 
human  being  of  the  lowest  race-a  Bushman,  for  example, 
—the  exalted  centres  of  thought  and  of  judgment  alone 
raise  the  indefinite  organism  above  and  beyond  all  other 
living  beings,  causing  it  to  be  not  only  a  living  being,  not 
onlyli  vertebrate  animal,  not  only  a  human  being  in  gen- 
eral, but  a  special  human  being,  an  individual  distinct 
from  all  other  individuals,  and  towering  above  all  the  rest 
if  these  centres  are  developed  to  an  especial  degree. 

This  hierarchy  within  the  organism  does  not  preclude 
a  certain  independence  among  the  separate  classes.  One 
might  say  that  they  were  constantly  fighting  among  them- 
selves  for  the  principles  of  democracy  and  aristocracy. 
The  lower  centres  do  not  like  to  be  ordered  about  by  the 
hi<^her  ones,  the  higher  strive  in  vain  to  escape  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  lower.  The"  brain  centres  can  not  prevent 
the  assimilating  centres  from  doing  their  work,  they  can 
not  compel  them  to  do  this  work  in  any  particular  way, 
more  rapidly  or  more  slowly ;  the  action  of  the  blood  cor- 
puscles, the  lymph  glands,  etc.,  are  entirely  beyond  the  con- 
trol of  the  consciousness  and  the  will.  Only  indirectly  are 
the  brain  centres  able  to  prove  that  they  are  the  most 


132      THE   PSYCII0-PHYS10L,0«Y  OF  QENIirS  AND   TALENT. 

powerful  after  all ;  they  can  deprive  these  lower  centres  of 
the  conditions  in  wtiicli  alone  they  are  able  to  perform 
their  functions,  by  preventing  the  entrance  of  food  into 
the  stomach,  for  example,  or  of  air  into  the  lungs,  thus 
rendering  it  impossible  for  the  digestive  glands  and  blood 
corpuscles  to  perform  their  allotted  tasks.  And  vice  versa, 
the  lower  centres  also  retain  the  higher  in  a  state  of  l>ond- 
age,  as  the  latter  are  onl}'  able  to  accomplish  their  best 
work  when  the  former  are  performing  their  duties  regu- 
larly and  ixjrfectly. 

Democratic  tendencies  are  prevalent  not  only  among 
the  lower  classes  of  the  colony  which  forms  the  organism, 
Its  whole  system  of  government  is  also  a  democratic  one, 
or  at  least,  very  unlike  a  monarchy.  We  liave  not  one 
single  centre  that  lords  it  over  all  the  other  centres  of  the 
organism  like  an  absolute  monarch,  but  several,  which 
have  all  an  equal  rank  and  are  invested  with  exactly  the 
same  amount  of  respect  and  iiower  in  tlic  organic  colony. 
Three  at  least,  of  these  centres  can  claim  to  be  rcganled  as 
the  triumvirate  which  decides  all  sovereign  matters  relat 
ing  to  the  oi-ganism ;  they  are  the  centres  of  consciousness, 
memory  and  volition.  (At  the  same  time  it  is  a  mere 
assumption  on  my  part  that  these  three  facidties  have 
established  centres;  it  hm  not  yet  been  proved,  an<l  it 
might  even  be  possilile  that  a  still  profounder  investiga- 
tion might  result  in  the  discovery  that  consciousness, 
memory  and  volition  are  not  elementar)',  but  combinar 
tions,  which  miglit  lie  rednowi  to  elementary  constituent 
parts.)  They  have  a  certain  iunuence  upon  each  other, 
but  are  independent  at  the  same  time.  They  must  act  in 
concert,  if  their  action  is  to  he  useful  and  teneficial  to  the 
oi-ganism ;  but  this  harmony  is  often  absent  in  cases  of 
mental  disease,  and  even  when  the  intellect  appears  to  lie 
in  a  normal  state  of  health.    Men  sometimes  lose  their 


I 


' 


I. 


BEMOCRATin   TENDENCIES   TN   THE   ORGANISM.         133 

memory  while  rettiining  their  consciousness.     And  in  the 
same  way  the  will-power  may  be  lost  while  the  conscious- 
ness is  preserved.     Volition  and  memory,  on  the  other 
hand,  exist  sometimes  when  the  consciousness  is  absent,  as 
for  instance,   in  somniiinbulism  and  in  several  forms  of 
livpnotism.     And  even  when  all  three  centres  are  working 
normally,  they  each  usually  go  their  own  ways,  which  may 
sometimes  run  parallel,  while  this  is  by  no  means  always 
llie  ease.     We  know  that  the  memory  is  entirely  independ- 
ent of  the  will.     It  summons  conceptions  hetbre  the  con- 
sciousness that  we  have  neither  sought  nor  demanded,  and 
obstinately  refuses  us  others  which  we  have  exerted  all  our 
cn(^rgies  to  remember.     In  the  same  way  the  will  is  en- 
tirely independent  of  the  consciousness  and  all  its  sub> 
stance.     In  vain  we  persuade  and  convince  ourselves,  with 
all  the  powers  of  our  judgment,  that  a  certain  action  ought 
to  be  performed,— yet  we  do  not  do  it.     The  consciousness 
is  completely  convinced,  but  the  will  pays  no  attention  to 
it.     Oi*  we  prove  to  ourselves  with  the  most  unanswerable 
armnnents  that  we  ought  to  refrain  from  a  certain  action. 
The  will  listens,  allows  the  stream  of  argument  to  flow  past, 
and  at  last  does  the  very  thing  to  whieh  the  consciousness 
so  strenuously  objects.     The  highest  centres  are  thus  en- 
tirely independent  of  each  other,  they  sometimes  agree  to 
aet,  in  concert,  then  again  th(\v  conflict  and  interfere,  and 
in  fact  are  contending  for  the  supreme  authority  through- 
out tlie  entire  life  of  the  organism. 

We  have  already  seen,  in  the  chapter,  "Majority  and 
Minority,"  that  the  highest  centres  require  a  very  rich  and 
complete  de\'elopment  to  be  able  to  produce  new  combina- 
tions, that  is,  to  respond  to  impressions  received  from  with- 
out with  thoughts  and  actions  such  as  were  never  conceived 
before,  and  which  are  entirely  without  precedent,  while 
these  centres,  at  a  lower  stage  of  development,  act  only 


\^ 


134      Till   FSYCIfO-FllYSIOLiMiV  OF   OKXTl'S  AND  TALKNT. 

MConliBg  to  the  tmlitioiial  and  inherited  way,  that  is, 
they  do  exactly  as  they  have  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  on 
similar  occasions,  and  as  was  done  l)y  their  parents  before 
them.    Ever3'  form  of  activity  that  is  repeatedly  practiced, 
liecomes  organic.     That  is  to  say,  the  relations  which  must 
exist  between  the  nerve  cells  and  the  ner>'e  fibres  to  pro- 
duce this  activity,  by  frequent  rei>etition  tecome  fixed  and 
rigid,  so  tlmt  it  proceeds  antomaticully.     Notwithstanding 
all  that  Herbert  Spencer  miiy  say  against  tlie  introduction 
of  illustrations  and  analogies  in  the  explanation  of  psycho- 
logical processes,  it  is  still  a  good  way  to  make  this  ex- 
ceedingly diflScult  matter  intelligible  to  the  uninitiated. 
Hence  I  do  not  besitote  to  introduce  a  crude  and  therefore 
all  the  more  pertinent  illustration  to  explain  wliat  is  meant 
by  this  oi-ganic  and  inorganic  vital  actitm  of  tiic  brain 
centres.     The  organic  acjtion  stands  in  the  same  relation 
to  the  inorganic,  as  the  music  produced  by  a  music  l»ox  to 
that  produwl  l»y  a  professional  pianist     Tlie  music  Iwx 
plays  the  piece  for  whicli  it  was  built  correctly  to  the  end, 
If  it  is  wound  np;  but  of  course  it  can  not  play  any  other 
than  this  one  piece.     The  virtuoso,  on  the  other  hand,  can 
play  eveiy  piece  the  notes  of  which  are  placed  l>efore  hira, 
and,  if  endowed  with  unusual  talents,  will  invent  new  com- 
iwsitions  and  play  on  without  referring  to  tlie  notes  of 
others.     In  the  average  masses  the  brain  centres  are  like 
the  meclianlcal  music  box ;  they  play  no  pieces  except  those 
for  which  they  were  constructed,   which   have    become 
organic  In  them.     Who  was  the  mechanic  that  arranged 
their  works  for  the  given  pieces  of  music?     It  was  the 
long  line  of  progenitoi-s  who  kept  playing  the  same  com- 
posTtiona  over  and  over  again  In  tlie  same  way,  until  the 
instrument,  from  being  originally  played  by  freely  moving 
fingere,  became  at  last  an  automaton.     In  the  exceptional 
men,  on  the  contnury,  the  brain  wntrea  are  like  the  virtu- 


HOW   ACTIONS   BKCOME   ORGANIC. 


Id5 


1 


osos.     They  can  play  pieces  that  no  one  ever  heard  before. 
Their  repertoire  does  not  consist  of  a  few  pieces  which  they 
keep  struinniiiig  over  and  over  again,  ])ut  changes  con- 
stantly, and  without  any  limitations  as  to  number.     One 
question  still  remains  :  why  do  frequently  repeated  actions 
become   organic?     Or  to  retain   the   illustration   already 
selected :  why  does  a  freely  played  piece  become  fixed  in 
the  cylinder  in  the  music  l>ox  by  frequent  repetition?     My 
answer  to  this  (^an  be  but  a  hypothesis,  which,  however, 
harmonizes  with  all  that  we  know  of  nature's  laws  :     I  say 
that  it  is  due  to  the  operation  of  the  universal  law  that 
everything  in  nature  is  done  with  the  least  possible  ex- 
penditure of  force.     When  the  will  or  the  consciousness 
have  new  combinations  to  form,  they  require  a  large  ex- 
penditure  of   nei-vous   energy.     Each   movement  of  the 
labor  to  be  performed  must  be  ordered  and  superintended. 
Now  this  expenditure  is  or)viated  if  it  is  possible  to  per- 
form  automatically  those   actions  wliieli   are   frequently 
rei)eated.     Then  a  single  impulse  is  sufficient— which  can 
ha  produced  by  some  mere  impression  on  tlie  senses,  or 
some  command  of  the  consciousness  or  will — to  set  the 
mechanism  in  motion,  and  the  work  is  perforaied  from  be- 
ginning to  end,  without  the  highest  centres  having  to  pay 
any  attention  to  it,  tike  part  in  it  or  issue  any  separate 
orders.     This  is  surely  the  reason  why  frequently  repeated 
actions  are  no  longer  controlled  by  the  freely  working 
highest  centres,  but  proceed  automatically,  that  is,  organ- 
ically.    This  tendency  to  economize  labor  and  energy  by 
a  transformation  as  comprehensive  as  possible,  of  free  into 
automatic  activity,  is  so  marked  that  its  influence  is  con- 
stantly felt  not  merely  by  the  race  but  also  by  the  individ- 
ual    It  does  not  require  a  long  succession  of  generations 
to  cause  certain  actions  to  become  organic  in  the  centres 
that  perform  them ;  it  is  accomplished  in  a  very  brief  space 


1^  ' 


tl 


136      THE   PSYCHO-PHYSIOLOCIY  OF   OENICS  AND   TALENT. 

of  time,  iiiiicli  less  thiiri  the  life  of  a  human  being.  P^ren 
the  most  energetic  organism — that  is,  acconling  to  my 
previous  definition,  the  most  orijjinul  organism, — sees  his 
originalit}'  become  automatic,  and  although  he  may  retain 
liis  originality  as  regards  other  human  Ijeings,  he  is  no 
longer  original  compared  with  liimself.  He  becomes  like 
a  music  box  which  mechanically  reijeats  the  musical 
arrangements  peculiar  to  it  alone.  This  explains  the 
reason  why  the  most  individual  genius  C(mic8  at  last  to 
have  mannerisms,  and  the  honest  cobbler  in  the  story  was 
not  so  far  out  of  the  way  in  his  criticism  of  the  beautiful 
painting,  when  he  remarked  thiit  it  must  have  required 
years  of  ha!)it  to  produce  a  work  like  it 

Tlie  automatic  workings  of  the  highest  centnjs  do  not 
appear  to  the  consciousness  as  ideas,  but  as  emotions. 
Duly  those  forms  of  activitv  which  proceed  from  beginning 
t*»  end  in  the  consciousness,  that  is,  which  commence  with 
some  impression  on  the  senses,  becoine  next  a  sensation, 
and  after  leading  to  some  surmise  as  to  their  cause,  are 
stoKMl  away  in  tlic  memory,  and  contriliute  to  form  a  judg- 
ment, which  tlie  will  is  particularly  commissioned  to  exe- 
cute— those  foims  of  activity  alone  are  apprehende<l  by 
the  thinking  Ego  as  distinct  and  clearly  defined  ideaa 
Those  forms  of  activit}'  on  tlie  other  hand,  whicli  occur 
without  any  direct  intervention  on  the  part  of  the  con- 
scionsness;  whiel.  consist  O.ei^fon,  of  a  succ-ession  of 
organic  acts,  performed  meclianically  b}'  some  centre  when 
incitwl  thereto,  as  a  music  box  plays  its  piece,  these  activ- 
ities ar«^  only  apprehended  as  indistinct,  C!on fused  impres- 
sions on  the  mind,  or — to  retain  tlic  sutticicntly  definite 
teclinical  teiin — as  eniotions.  This  distinction  must  lie 
constantly  borne  in  mind.  It  is  the  preliminary'  assumi>- 
tion  to  all  that  I  still  have  to  say  in  tins  chapter,  and  I 
shall  draw  many  other  conclusions  from  it  thmughout  the 


{ 


LIMITATIONS    OF    MAN's    CONSnorSNESS. 


137 


renuiiiider  of  this  woik.     We  must  never  forget  that  what 
we  call  the  cciJisciousuess  is  m>t  tlie  entire  organism  but 
only  one  separate  organ  in  it,  compreliended  in  one  brain 
centre,  tliat  it  is,  in  short,  not  the  consciousness,  but  a 
consciousness.     Each   centre   has  its   own   separate   con- 
sciousness, of  which,  however,  the  highest  centre  of  all,^ 
the  one  tliat  Ibnus  the  foundation  of  our  thinking  Ego,  of 
our  intellectual  i)ersonality,  receives  no     intbruiation,     or 
at  most  only  an  indistinct  one.     Our  Ego,  that  is,  the 
highest  brain  centre,  learns  nothing,  or  nothing  exact,  in 
regard  to  the  processes  occurring  in  the  centres  in  the 
spinal  cord  and  the  sympathetic  nerve.     And  yet,  it  is  be- 
yond (lucstion  that  these  centres  have  each  their  conscious- 
ness as  well,  although  but  a  limited  and  suljordinate  con- 
sciousness, so  that  they  are  conscious  in  each  instance  of  the 
actions  and  the  orders  to  be  given  to  the  tissues  under  their 
control,  with  which  they  are  to  respond  to  the  excitation. 
We  must  imagine  the  consciousness  as  an  inner  eye  con- 
templating the  centres  and  their  activity  through  a  kind  of 
microscope.     The  field  of  view  of  this  microscope  is  com- 
paratively limited,  the  observing  eye  sees  nothing  of  all 
that  lies  outside  of  it,  nor  even  the  beginning  and  the  end  of 
those  pictures  which  extend  across  the  narrow  field  of 
vision.     The  consciousness  l)ecomes  aware  of  the  ultimate 
results  of  the  vital  activity  of  other  centres,  but  not  of 
their  beginnings  and  course  of  development.    When  mem- 
ory slides  some  image  across  the  field  of  view  of  the  con- 
sciousness, it  sees  them ;  but  it  sees  and  knows  nothing  as 
to  how  it  was  produced,  nor  whither  it  is  gliding.     The 
ease  is  precisely  similar  where  the  will  is  concerned.     The 
consciousness  sees  the  results  of  the  vital  activity  of  the 
will  centres,  that  is,  the  combined  movement  of  certain 
muscles,  or  a  series  of  movements  adapted  to  the  end  in 
view.    But  as  to  how  the  innervating  impulse,  that  is, 


vM 


Mill 


;i 


138     TEB  PSYCHO-PHYSIOLOOy  OF  GENIUS  AND  TALENT. 

tie    iMiwer  wliifh,  atjtiiig   tbroiigh   the   nerve  conduits, 
causes  the  muscles  to  contract,  is  evolved,  of  this  the  con- 
sciousness is  and  remains  ignorant     The  ways  in  which 
the  consciousness  tiikes  cognizance  of  its  own  special 
activity  and  of  that  of  the  other  centres,  as  they  become 
visible  tio  it  on  Its  circumscribed  field  of  view,  differ  in 
ever)'  respect.     Its  own  operations,  which  it  commences 
and  finishes  itself,  and  all  the  separate  parts  of  which  it 
lias  prt^pared  itself,  leave  no  feeling  of  unceitainty  and 
dissatiifaction  in  it.    For  they  are  ideas,  as  I  said  l>efore ; 
ideas,  that  is,  things  both  bright  and  clear.    The  oi)erar 
tions  of  the  other  centres,  on  the  contrary,  of  which  it  hi4S 
only  a  partial  knowledge,  over  which  it  has  no  direct  con- 
trol, whose  separate  paiis  it  can  not  distinguish  with  any 
accuracy,  whose  teginuings,  growtfi  and  end  it  alike  fails 
to  see,   are  the  cause  of  a  cerUiin  uncomfortable  and 
strained  sensiition,  sucli  as  tlie  eye  exiieriences  when  it  is 
vainly  striving  to  see  distinctly  something  very  far  away, 
veiy  small  or  very  dimly  lighted;  it  is  a  realization  of  its 
own  liraitiitiiins,  a  realization  of  its  own  weakness  and  in- 
completeness, a  combination  of  curiosity  and  uneasiness, 
and  the  longing  for  increased  knowledge.     This  sensation 
is  emotion,  which  we  feel  in  our  consciousness  as  premoni- 
tions, longings,  confused  excitement,  and  vaguely  defined 
wishes.    The  distinct  and  clearly  defined  work  of  thinking 
—this  vital  activity  on  the  part  of  the  highest  centrc  of 
consciousness,  which  I  will  call  by  the  term  cogitation,  as 
opposed  to  emotion,  is  accomplishetl  only  by  those  more 
thoronghly  ecpiipped  individuals,  who  have  the  iK>werof 
piwlucing  new  com lii nations.    The  average  masses,  whose 
centres  work  automatically,  who  represent  such  combimv 
tions  only  as  are  already  organized,  are  restricted  to 
emotion.     By  far  the  largest  majority  of  human  beings 
never  have  a  single  clear,  thorouglily  illumined  idea  in 


FEW   MEN   HAVE   THOUGHTS,  ALL   HAVE   EMOTIONS.      139 

their  consciousness  throughout  their  entire  Hie.  Their 
consciousness  never  sees  any  other  than  vague,  dim 
pictures ;  they  would  not  be  able  to  describe  with  any  dis- 
tinctness what  is  going  on  in  their  minds  at  any  given 
moment;  every  attempt  to  do  this  would  sink  at  once  into 
indefinite  babblings  and  meaningless  commonplaces  witli- 
out  relief.  They  live  on  emotions  exclusively.  Emo- 
tion is  thus  what  is  inlierited,  cogitation  what  is  individu- 
ally attained.  Emotion  is  the  vital  activity  of  the  race, 
cogitation,  the  vital  activity  of  the  individual. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  of  their  vagueness  cniolious 
are  subjectively  more  agreeable  than  cogitatiou,  though 
they  leave  the  consciousness  unsatisfied  and  even  uneasy ; 
this  is  owing  to  a  triple  cause.     In  the  first  place  it  is 
easier,— that  is,  it  requires  less  expenditure  of  nervous 
energy,  as   labor   performed   automatically  by  the  nerve 
centres  is  less  trouble  than  free  and  conscious  labor,— 
—and  easiness  is  regarded  as  pleasure,  and  effort  as  trouble 
or  pain.     In  the  second  place,  the  inability  experienced  by 
the  consciousness  to  see  with  any  definiteness  the  processes 
taking  place  in  the  centres  which  work  automatically — the 
emotions— includes  an  element  of  anxiety  along  with  an 
element  of  fascination  and  excitement.     The  consciousness 
endeavors  to  surmise  what  it  does  not  know; 'it  tries  to 
picture  what  it  can  not  see  distinctly.     And  this  activity 
on  the  part  of  the  consciousness  is  nothing  but  the  imag- 
ination aroused  to  action  by  the  emotion.     But  we  know 
by  experience  that  imagination  is  one  of  the  agreeable 
manifestations  of  the  active  consciousness.     In  the  thiixl 
place,— and  this  argument  has  been  already  advanced  by 
Darwin,— the  most  important  activities  of  the  organism 
are  also  those  most  frequently  practiced ;  those  organic 
processes  therefore  which,  as  a  general  thing  have  become 
automatic  through  frequent  repetition,  are  the  most  im- 


w 


im     THE  PS.YCH0-FHYS10'M)0Y  01'  GENIUS  AND  TALENT. 

portaiit  for  the  preservation  of  the  iEdividiuil  and  of  the 
race.     And  as  these  processes  are  apprehended  by  the  eon- 
sciousness  only  hi  the  form  of  emotions,  it  follows  that  tlie 
organism  ascribes  the  highest  imfjortance  t»  the  emotions 
as  the  most    essential   and    important  manifestation  of 
organic  vital  activity,  that  is,  in  subjective  terns,  it  expe- 
riences them  the  deei>est  and  the  most  intensely.     The 
reverse  of  these  tlnee  ai-guments  is  true  in  regai-d  to  cogi- 
tation.    It  can  not  he  experienced  as  more  agreeable  he- 
cause,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  too  difficult  and  inconvenient 
for  the  average  organism,  in  the  second  plaxse,  because  it 
does  not  arouse  that  delightful  play  of  the  consciousness 
which  we  call  imagination,  and,  thirdly,  because  at  the 
irst  glance  it  does  not  seem  importtmt  and  essential  to  the 
oi-gimism,  which  knows  that  it  has  existed  without  it 
hitherto,  and  it  has  first  to  demonstrate  its  importance  or 
utility  by  finding  frequent  opportunities  to  repeat  itself, 
with  appreciable  advantiige  to  the  organism.    In  this  latter 
case,  however,  it  soon  liecomes  organic  and  is  transformed 
ii-om  cogikition  into  emotion.    These  supiiositions  throw 
liKht  upon  a  nnmber  of  hitherto  obscure  phenomena.    The 
Komantlc  school,  which  prefers  the  old  to  the  new,  and 
cousidera  the  Middle  Ages  more  "poetic'*  than  our  own 
times,  which  raves  over  a  ruin  and  calls  a  building  adapted 
to  its  purpose  and  in  good  repair,  an  alwmination,  this 
school  has  its  wiots  in  the  facts  that  old,  traditional  ideas 
arouse  the  centres  to  automatic  action,  and  consequently, 
are  apprehended  as  emotions,  while  the  novel  ideas,  not 
oi^anic  as  yet,  require  an  effort  of  the  consciousness  to 
consider  them,  and  thus  produce  cogitation. 

The  old  stage-coach  aroused  emotion  in  the  minds  of 
the  generation  that  last  had  used  it,  the  railroad,  cogitar- 
tion  J  thus  the  contemi>orarie8  of  the  great  revolution  in 
our  means  of  transportation  considered  the  stage-€oach 


i 


THE  STEAM  ENGINE  IN  THE  POETRY  OF  THE  FUTURE.  141 

poetic,  the  niilroad  dry  and  prosaic.     The  whole  of  poetry 
and  its  operation  are  based  upon  this  radical  difference  be- 
tween emotion  and  cogitation.     The  substance  of  poetry  is 
general  human  relations,  circumstances  and  passions,  that 
ts    fre(iucntly  repeated  organic  activities  which  have  be- 
come automatic ;  it  is  therefore  produced  by  emotion  and 
it  arouses  emotion.     Even  in  its  forms  of  expression  it 
retains  all  the  old  ideas,  not  accidentally,  but  necessarily, 
because  it  is  comprclieusiV)le  that  inherited  ideas  should 
appear  also  on  the  consciousness^  Held  of  view  in  the  garb 
in  which  the  ancestors  transmitted  them  to  posterity.     For 
this  reason  "poetry  still  alludes  to  spirits  and  fairies  and 
gods;   for  this  reason  it  still  anthropomorphizes  natui-e 
and  the  affections ;  for  this  reason  it  arms  its  heroes  with 
aiTOW  and  club,  instead  of  Henry  rifles ;  for  this  reason 
its  travelers  proceed  from  place  to  place  on  their  noble 
steed,  instead  of  taking  the  sleeping  car ;  for  this  reason  it 
retains  the  cosmic  conception  of  the  infancy  of  our  civili- 
zation.    It   has   nothing   to  do  with   modern   ideas   and 
forms      It  does  not  feel  at  home  in  the  views  and  institu- 
tions of  the  day.     They  are  too  new  for  it ;  they  are  as 
yet  not  organized  ;  they  have  not  yet  become  automatic ; 
they  are  not  yet  emotional,  but  cogitational,  to  express  it 
in  one  word.    For  this  reason  every  attempt  to  ^nve  to  poet- 
17  a  modern  substance  is  utterly  ineffectual.     When  some- 
times a  rhymster  sets  himself  the  task  of  constructing  what 
is  called  practical  poetry,  and  introduces  science  into  his 
verses  he  only  demonstrates  thereby  that  he  has  not  the 
sli-htest  intimation  of  what  the  essence  of  poetry  really  is. 
Pwtry  is  emotion ;  to  attempt  to  make  cogitation  of  it 
would  be  like  attempting  to  transform  a  dream  into  wide- 
awake reality,  without  its  ceasing  to  be  a  dream.     But  the 
transition  from  cogitation  to  emotion  will  soon  follow  as  a 
matter  of  coui-se.     It  is  only  a  question  of  time.    What  is 


H-.J. 


I 

! 

1 


^'1' 


i 


142      THE  ■pSYCHO-PIIYBIOLOOY  OF   GENIUS  AND   TALENT. 

new  today  will  he  old  a  tliousaiid  j^ears  lieiice.  What  is 
individual  todaj'  will  belong  then  to  the  race,  ha\'ing  been 
handed  down  from  one  generation  to  the  other  until  it  has 
become  organic.  By  that  time  a  railroad  station  will  seem 
quite  as  ixjetic  as  a  ruined  castle  today,  a  Krnpp  gun  the 
same  as  a  lance,  a  reference  to  an  electro-dynamic  machine 
or  to  a  bacillus  as  poetic  as  now  one  to  the  wings  of  song 
or  to  the  nightingale's  lament  For  we  must  not  forget 
that  all  this  old-fashioned  partiphernalia  of  i>oetiy  was  at 
one  time  fully  as  new,  that  is,  as  cogitational  as  are  now 
the  railroad,  modern  fireanns  and  our  natural  science.  At 
that  time  the  knightly  armor  and  the  castle  on*  the  moun- 
tjiin  |ieak  were  considered  just  as  prosaic  and  matter  of 
fuct  IIS  we  now  consider  a  shooting  jacket  and  a  barracks, 
and  nothing  but  what  was  old  then,  was  suiTounded  with 
the  iioetic  halo.  This  is  not  mere  assumption,  we  have  es- 
tablished data  for  this  assertion.  Almost  all  ancient  peo- 
ples associated  certain  religious,  mystic,  and  thus  emo- 
tional ideas  with  stone  implements,  after  they  had  been  in 
the  |K)sse88ion  of  bronze  articles  for  centuries.  The  stone 
article  was  to  the  savage  of  tlie  bronze  and  the  preceding 
iron  age,  what  all  the  mediaBval  nibbish  is  to  the  senti- 
mental enthusiasts  of  our  age. 

There  are  generations,  ages,  peoples,  and  epochs  in 
which  the  automatic  activitj  surpasses  the  freely  combin- 
ing activity  of  the  highest  centres,  in  winch  emotion  pi*©- 
vails  over  cogitation.  Woman  is  far  more  emotional  than 
man,  as  her  highest  centres  scarcely  ever  attain  to  the 
most  advanced  state  of  development,  whicli  occurs  much 
more  frequently  in  man.  The  child,  whose  centres  are  not 
yet  matured,  and  the  aged  person  in  whom  they  have  al- 
ready tegun  to  decay,  have  almost  nothing  but  emotions, 
without  any  cogitation.  In  sickness  and  convalescence, 
when  the  organism  and  thus  the  whole  central  nervous  sys- 


EMOTIONAL    KA<^KS,    PK«)PLKS    AND    KPO(MlS. 


143 


) 


tem,  is  still  feeble,  it  is  only  capable  of  emotions.     Mental 
affections  first  announce  their  appearance  by  the  facility 
with  which  the  person  affected  changes  his  moods,  becom- 
ing morose  and  gay  in  turn,  that  is,  by  the  variability  of 
his  emotions.     The  Chinese  and  the  modern  Latin  races 
are  emotional  peoples;  they  allow  themselves  to  be  im- 
pelled by  semi-conscious  moods,  that  is  to  say,  l)y  the 
inherited  automatic  activity  of  their  centres,  and  produce 
but  very  few  individuals  in  whom  the  highest  centres  are 
powerful  enough  to  restrain  tliis  tendenc}'  to  automatism 
("to  inhibit"  is  the  technical  psychological  term)  and  pro- 
duce free  coml)inations,  that  is  to  think  for  themselves,  to 
iKi  cogitational.     The  Middle  Ages  were  one  long  single 
eix)ch  of  purely  emotional  character.    What  was  traditional 
was  all-powerful.     The  individual  was  entirely  lost  in  the 
family,  the  corporation  and  the  class.     For  almost  five 
hundred  years  there  was  not  a  single  l)rain  centre  that  was 
capable  of  cogitation.     Consequently  the  whole  eix)ch  had 
to  be  sentimental,  religions  and  mystic,  adjectives  which 
none  of  them  mean  anything  else  than  that  lack  of  distinct- 
ness with  which,  as  we  have  already  seen,  the  automatic 
activity  of  these  centres  comes  to  the  consciousness  of  the 

individual. 

The  detailed  explanations  to  which  T  have  been  devot- 
ing myself  hitherto,  may  liave  seemed  somewhat  discursive, 
but  those  readers  who  are  not  professional  psychologists 
will  find  them  of  the  utmost  importance  as  a  preparation 
to  what  is  to  follow.  Now  for  the  first  time  he  can  under- 
sttuid  what  I  meant  when  1  said  that  genius  and  talent 
could  be  traced  directly  to  the  degree  of  development 
'  attained  l)y  certain  centres.  In  what  part  of  the  brain  we 
are  to  look  for  these  centres,  whose  special  development  is 
revealed  by  some  special  powers,  this  is  something  of 
which  in  most  cases  we  are  still  ignorant.    But  it  is  not 


ill:  I 


w 


I! li I 


144      TEE   P8YCHO-Pll,YSI<»L<><tY  OF   OENIUS  AND   TALENT. 

iMiyoml  Ur'  nuigc  id  ixiasibilily  nor  vwni  of  probiihility 
that  the  ruiiiljiiieil  iincsti^^atioiis  of  the  cHiiieal  mtHlieul 
scieiitisls,  llic  palii»>logii*:il  iiiiiitoiiiists,  iiiul  tlie  ex\mi- 
mental  pathologists,  ptnliups  iilso  the  systeiimtic  exiiiiiUKi- 
tioii  of  the  brahis  of  speckill}'  emhieiit  uieu,  which  has  only 
reeeiitly  been  commenced,  may  rcsult  in  detennining  the 
exact  locution  of  the  diiferent  centres. 

Those  people  who  consider  intellectual  ;i(tivity  to  be 
the  work  of  a  soul,  that  is,  of  some  nonmaterial  guest  in 
our  material  I »o<ly,  will  tliink  the  explanation  of  the  phc- 
nomcnun  of  a  genius  and  even  of  a  talent  either  alisunlly 
Belf-evident  or  else  utterly  iuHJOSsible.     It  will  not  bene- 
it  them   to   say   that  Peter   has  more   soul   than  Paul, 
as  where  there  is  no  matter,  there  can  not  be  any  size, 
which  is  an  attribute  of  mattei-  al«ine,  nor  any  intensity, 
wliich  is  an  attribute  of  the  fori-i'  associated  with  matter 
alone,  cousequently  not  any  more  (»i"  any  less,  but  only  the 
single  unity  foivver.     Just  as   little  can   they  say   lliai 
the  different  souls  vary  in  regaril  to  their  composition,  that 
the  question  is  no  longer  in  regaid  to  a  more  or  less,  but 
of  a  something  else;    for  a  difference  in  the  essenc*;  of 
something  non -material  is  as  ilifficult  for  the  brain  of  man 
t*i  conceive  as  a  difference  in  the  composition  of  matter, 
whicli  Irom  our  point  of  view  is  supposed  to  be  homo- 
gc;ueous,  uuehangeable  and  always  like  to  itself     Thus 
only  the  one  explanation— which  is  none  at  all— remains, 
that  liy  the  grace  of  God  some  one  soul  is  endowed  with  a 
richer  activity  than  the  rest.     But  tliose  people  who  on 
the  contrary  believe  witli  moilern  scient^e  tliat  intellectual 
activities  are  the  work  of  certain  organs— the  ner\c  centres 
in  the  lirain— will  understand  without  the  least  dilliculty 
how  a  better  developed  organ  can  perfonn  its  allottetl  tasks 
more  ijerfectly  than  one  less  developed.     Why  this  or  that 
centre  should  be  tetter  develoiicd  hi  one  iiidividutd  than 


)t 


TALENT   HAS    NO    ANATOMICAL    FOUNDATION. 

in  another,  it  is  true,  is  in  this  way  still  unexplained. 
But  this  officious  AVliy,  which  is  always  inquiring  for  the 
ultimate  cause  of  all  phenomena,  is  carefully  shunned  ]>y 
exact  science  altogether. 

We  need  not  dwell  long  upon  the  subject  of  talent. 
Tt  has  no  anatomical  foundation.     Tt  is  not  due  to  any 
special  development  of  tlie  centres.     Neither  in  essence 
nor  even  in  quantity,  does  the  talented  man  differ  from 
those  i)eople  in  whom  we  do  not  perceive  any  talent.     I 
am  almost  tempted  to  express   this   thought   still  more 
abruptly,  and  say  that  there  is  no  such  tiling  as  talent. 
At  least,  we  must  not  attempt  to  express  anything  specific 
by  this  term.     Taleiit— that  means,  industry  and  opportu- 
nity, opportunities  for  practice  and  development.     Ever}' 
normal  human  being,  which  tenn  excludes  all  forms  of  dis- 
ease, decay  and  a  lower  degree  of  develo})ment  than  that 
attained  by  the  average  type  of  white  humanity  at  the 
present  day,  has  in  him  all  that  is  needed  to  perform  any 
Ibrm  of  activity  in  the  way  that  is  generally  said  to  reveal 
talent.     He   has   only   to   devote   himself  exclusively  or 
mainly  to  the  one  form  of  activity  he  selects.     We  can 
make  whatever  we  choose  out  of  any  perfectly  healthy 
average  child,  by  drilling  it  for  it,  with  common  sense, 
sufFieiently  long  and  sufficiently  strictly.     Witirthe  proper 
training  it  would  not  be  a  very  difficult  task  to  form  regi- 
ments and  even  armies,  of  whatever  you  want,  artists, 
authors,  orators,  scientists,  without  any  previous  discrim- 
ination. l)y  lot  and  chance,  as  recruits  are  enlisted  in  the 
army,  and   every  man  of  this   army  would   have  to  be 
accepted   unconditionally   as  a  man   of   talent.     On   this 
tacit  assumption  the  whole  of  our  system  of  education   is 
founded.     The  school   takes  it  for  granted  that  all  the 
scholars  are  equally  endowed  and  are  able  to  attain  the 
same  aims  of  cultivation ;  hence  it  has  for  all  the  same 


141;      THE   1'SYCHO-PIlVSIO!.(NlY   OF  OENirS   ANT)  TALENT. 

systems  of  instruction,  the  siiiiie  lessons,  the  same  sul^ects 
H)  lie  studied.     If,  however,  tliere  hnppeu  to  be  satisfae- 
torv  nod  unsatisfaetory  scliolare,  this  is  owing  to  tlie  greater 
«r  less  iiidostrv  of  the  pipils-with  the  exception  of  tliose 
of  imiierfeet,  that  is,  non-typical,  diseased  development--or 
to  their  opiKHlunities  for  devoting  themselves  more  or  less 
exclusively  to  the  tasks  allotte<l  them  in  the  school.    To  he 
sure  thisarmv  of  scientists,  orators,  poets,  artists,  etc. 
wiirnever  create  anything  new;  they  will  never  enlarge 
the  boundaries  of  their  profession,  never  raise  its  st:indanls 
hicrlier;  but  what  has  been  accomplished  l»efore  them,  they 
will  copy  with  great  skill,  great  facility  and  faultlessness. 
aBd  an/ one  able  to  do  tins  is  called  a  t^dentt^l  individual. 
There  iw  any  ninnlicr  of  examples  of  men  who  manifested 
nnmisfcikable  evidences  of  talent  on  the  most  varied  tieUls. 
I  will  only  mention  one,  Trbino  Bal.li.  the  classical  philol- 
ogist, artist,  matliematician,  poet  and  physician,  nmBt(T  ot 
sixteen  languages  ami  professor  of  medicine  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Padua,  who  was  thoroughly  prodcient  in  all 
these*  In-anches  of  learning.     In   former  centuries  such 
iinivei-sally  talented  men  were  by  no  means  uncommon. 
und  we  could  train  up  as  many  of  them  as  we  choose  at  the 
present  time,  if  tlie  amount  of  knowledge  to  be  aciiiired  had 
not  Increased  so  enormously  since  then.     It  now  reiinires 
a  much  longer  time  to  <lo  over  again  all  th:it  htis  been 
accomplished  before.    Tt  is  now  a  .piestion  of  years  msteai 
of  mental  capacity.     If  men  could  live  to  be  two  hundrcMl 
years  old  then,  today  as  well  as  at  the  time  of  the  Renais- 
sance, one  single  individual  might  perfect  liimself  m  a 
number  of  different  accomplishments  and  professions,  until 
he  had  completely  mastered  them,  and  att^alned  the  pro- 
ficiency in  each  separate  siHvialty  which  would  render  liim 

a  talented  exiiert  in  it 

But  what  am  I  to  say  now  io  regard  to  what  is  ealleii 


TALENT    NOT    HEREDITARY. 


147 


^ 


i 


the  expressed  inclination  for  any  special  calling?     One 
child  from  its  earliest  years  wants  to  be  a  soldier,  another  a 
musician,  or  a  scientist,  or  a  mechanic.     This  certainly 
signifies  that  there  is  something  in  the  child  which  other 
children  do  not  possess,  or  at  least  not  in  the  same  propor- 
tion.    Of  course ;  so  every  one  says.     But  my  opinion  is 
that  all  these  instances  of  a  child's  assumed  preference  for 
a  certain  calling,  are  founded  upon  inexact  observation. 
Generally  speaking,  the  child's  preference  is  attracted  to  a 
certain  calling  by  some  external  circumstance,  by  the  ex- 
ample of  those  around  him,  by  the  conversation  carried  on 
in  his  presence,  by  books  which  have  ftillen  accidentally 
into  his  hands,  or  by  plays  that  he  has  seen,  and  where 
there   is   an   utter    indifference    to    all    callings,   a  very 
slight  impulse  is  all  that  is  required  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion to  one  more  than  to  the  others.     And  in  the  limited 
number  of  cases  to  which  this  explanation  does  not  apply, 
the  so-called  expressed  preference  for  a  certain  calling  is 
nothing  of  the  kind,  but  merely  an  unexpressed  aversion 
to  other  callings,  based  upon  the  realization  of  one*s  incapa- 
bility for  certain  forms  of  activity,  which  again  is  the  result 
c.f  an  imperfect  development  of  certain  nerve  centres.    This 
In-anch  of  the  subject,  however,  trenches  upon  the  sphere 
of  disease,  which  includes  those  individuals,  who  in  some 
point  or  other  ftiU  below  the  standard  type;  my  assertion 
however,  that  talent  is  merely  development  by  means  of 
ample  practice,  applies  to  none  l)ut  perfectly  and  regularly 
formed  individuals  of  the  normal  type.   Let  us  examine  into 
the  matter  closely  and  we  will  find,  that  every  time,  when  a 
young  fellow  runs  away  from  the  high  school  or  the  desk 
in  the  counting  house,  to  become  an  artist  or  a  soldier,  he 
did  not  act  thus  from   an  irresistible   yearning   for  the 
artistic  or  military  profession— as  he  may  imagine  after- 
wards—but from   a  hatred  of    mathematics  or   of   the 


148      THE   PSYCHO-PHYSTOI/H5T  OP   OEN'irs   AND  TALENT. 

Strict  discipline  of  a  business  house,  and  with  the  liazy 
idea  that  the  other  career  woukl  prove  easier  and  pleasanter 
than  the  one  originally  entoml  niK,n.  This  changeable 
individual  does  not  possess  anything  beyond  what  others 
possess,  he  has  no  decide*!  talent  for  art  or  arms,  but  he 
possesses  something  less  than  others :  tlie  capacity  to  en- 
dure the  exertion  of  regular  study  or  the    raei-cantile 

discipline.  .  , 

From  what  has  just  been  said,  the  question  as  to  the 
herclitaiy  character  of  talent  is  already  answered.     As  I 
do  not  believe  talent  to  he  anything  spc-cifically  prom.nent 
in  the  orgiuiism,  neither  can  I  belic-vc  in  its  hcreditarj- 
character.     What  is  chiimeil  to  have  been   proved  by 
exiiericncc  in   rega«l  to  this  can  not  affect  my  views 
in  the  slightest,  any  more  than  docs   Galton  s  famous 
lKK,k.  whose  tide,    "Hereditary  Genius,"    is  a  remark- 
ably  inappropriate  nse  of  the  term.     Tlie  fact  frwjiicntly 
observed  that  a  family  produces  a  succession  of  so-called 
men  of  talent  in  one  and  the  same  direction,  is  not  the 
slightest  proof.     What  is  more  natural  than  that  Uie 
chrid  should  be  early  influenced  to  give  a  certain  direction 
to  his  thought  by  the  example  of  father  or  uncle,  etc.? 
The  physician's  son  grows  up  surrounded  by  ideas  of  a 
medical"  and   scientific  nature;   he  is  obliged  to  imbil« 
these  ideas,  if  he  is  not  hopelessly  obtuse;  they  will  impel 
him  to  select  his  father  s  profession,  or  one  relate.1  to  it, 
«nd  if  he  is  a  normal  human  being,  he  will  undoubtedly 
become  proficient  in  the  chosen  profession,  that  is,  he  will 
become  a  man  of  talent    Did  he  therefore  inherit  a  certain 
talent  from  his  father?     No.     His  ability  to  ,)erfect  him- 
self in  all  the  forms  of  human  activity  was  only  dirccte( 
by  his  fathers  example  to  the  acquirement  of  the  paternal 
form  of  activity.     The  same  lM)y,  as  the  son  of  a  geuei-al, 
wouhl  have  Ik^-ouic  a  man  of  military  talent,  or  as  llu.  son 


PREFERKNCK    FOR   A   VOCATION   NO   TEST  OF  TALENT.      149 

„fjipnintcr,  he  would  have  become  a  talented  artist— in 
■uiy  case,  a  respectalAe  mediocrity,  but  hardly  attaining  to 
more  than  this.     The  existence  of  several  men  talented  in 
the  same  direction,  in  one  family,  far  from  demonstratmg 
that  tolent  is  hereditary,  is  an  exact  proof  of  the  contrary. 
It  proves  that  a  noraially  developed  child  can  attaui  to  the- 
rank  of  a  talented  man  in  any  career  suggested  to  it  by 
Ihmily  traditions,  l»v  the  mere  force  of  example,  without 
any  necessity  for  a  special  organic  tendency.    There  is  one 
(•rucial  tx'st  which  would  solve  the  problem  onrc  for  all, 
but  so  far  as  I  know,  it  has  never  been  made.     If  some 
(.hdd    pickiHl  up  in  the  street,  brought  up  in  an  orplian 
asyliim,  with  an  education  that  did  not  mnke  any  calling 
especially  prominent,  should  select  a  certain  calling  from 
a  decided  i)rerereiue  lV>r  it,  and  attain  in  it  a  reasonable  if 
not  exceptional  measure  of  success,   and  afterwards  dis- 
cover the  secret  of  his  birth,  and  find  that  lie  was  descended 
from  a  fr.mily  which  had  already  given  evidence  of  the 
possession  of  talents  in  the  same  calling;  if  this  test  were 
to  ]>e  ivpeated  sufficiently  often  to  exclude  the  operation 
(»f  chance,  then  and  not  until  then  would  it  be  demon- 
strated bevond  a  doubt  that  a  certain  talent  is  hereditary. 
But  I  repeat  that  I  am  not  aware  of  any  such  test  having 
been  made  up  to  the  present  time,  and  I  doubt -very  much 
whether  it  ever  will  be  made. 

The  circumstances  are  entirely  different  in  the  case  of 
o-enius.  Genius  is  not  a  synonymous  term  for  the  pro- 
ficiency attained  by  ample  practice.  It  is  not  a  normal 
type  exceptionally  well  developed,  as  the  result  of  favoi- 
•iblc  conditions.  Genius  is  an  exceptional  organization,  dif- 
fering from  the  normal  organization.  It  is  founded  upon 
the  special  development  of  some  one  nerve  centre,  or  some- 
times possibly  of  more  than  one,  or  even  of  all  the  centres. 
The  o-cnius  therefore  performs  all  actions  controlled  by  his 


1511     TUB  FSTC!10-l*IIYS.I0L0(ir  OP  CIBNIl!«  AND  TALENT. 

iinnsiiallj  (levelopi'd  centres,  in  an  exceptionally  perfect 
manner,  far  wore  perfectly  than  pei'sons  of  the  average 
type,  even  though  they  liad  eiiltivated  these  same  centres 
to  the  utmost  limit  of  perfection   attainable  l>y  them. 
From  a  strictly  pliysiolojricnl  point  of  view,  every  instance 
in  whicli  any  centre  or  even  any  tis«n(^  is  developed  to  an 
excpptioiud  degn^e,  largely  surpassing  the  average  stand- 
anl,  ought  to  he  properly  descrilied  as  genius.     An  ex- 
tremely   robust    man,   able  to   perfonn    continually  the 
severest  labor,  exi)osed  to  all   the   inclemencies  of  the 
weather,   deiuivcd  of  sleep,  with    insufficient  f<K>d   and 
clothing,  and  yet  with  it  all,  not  impairing  his  health,  such 
a  man  might  *l)e  called  a  genius  in  lite-force,  as  his  lowest 
centres,  tliose  which  perforin  the  simplest  tasks  in  the  organ- 
Ism,  llie  most  secret  mechanic.-d  juid  chemical  processes 
in  the  living  cell,  must  be  excei)tionally  perfect  in  him. 
3Iilo  of  Oroton  was  in  this  sense  a  inuscnhir  genius*.     The 
muscidar  tissue  had  attained  a  degree  of  development  in 
him  beyond  that  of  any  otlier  lunnan  being  known  to  the 
ancients.     He  was  thus  alile  to  do  tilings  which  had  never 
Ijeen  done  before  him,  which  did  not  seem  possible  to  the 
average  man,  and  in  ilict,  were  not  possible.    He  wrenched 
trees  asunder  with  liis  hands.     This  was  a  way  of  splitting 
them  wliieh  had  never  occurred  to  any  one  before,  and  in 
which  no  one  could  imitate  him,  no  matter  how  much  he 
practiced.     Tlic  utmost  he  could  do  was  to  attempt  it  on 
much  smaller  and  weaker  trees.     There  must  certainly 
have  been  talented  muscles  which  succeetled  by  persever- 
ing practice,  in  accomplishing  on  >  oung  saplings  the  feat 
that  the  muscular  genius  alone  was  able  to  accomplish  on 
full  grown  trees  without  precedent  and  practice  at  the  fii-st 
attempt.    There  might  be  a  man  with  su(;h  a  perfect  sense 
of  liearing  that,  as  he  strolled  along  the  street,  he  could 
distinguish  what  was  said  in  the  innermost  rcM)ms  of  the 


MILO   OF   CROTON. 


151 


houses,  and  even  what  was  whispered.     He  would  be  a 
hearing  genius.     Without  any  trouble  and  as  a  matter 
of  course,  he  would  learn  things  and  discover  secrets 
of  which  the  average  man  could  not  even  conceive  a 
suspicion.     But  such  a  fonn  of  perfection  is  not  called 
genius,  because  it  is  not  exclusively  human.     All  living 
beings' have  the  lowest  centres  controlling  the  vital  pro- 
cesses, and  if  we  should  call  the  robust  man  mentioned 
alx)ve'  a  genius,  a  frog  that  had  remained  alive  in  the 
lieart  of  a  stone  for  untold  centuries,  or  a  cat  that  had  sur- 
vived six  weeks  without  food,  imprisoned  in  some  pipe 
among  the  ruins  of  a  conflagration,  would  have  a  right  to 
the  same  title.     In  the  same  way  the  muscular  develop- 
ment of  Milo  of  Croton  would  only  cause  him  to  rank  with 
some  especially  strong  elephant,  or  at  most,  with  some  ex- 
ceptional flea  that  could  jump  much  fiirtlier  than  any  of  his 
companion  fleas,  and  a  hearing  genius  does  not  surpass  the 
animals  among  whom  the  different  senses  are  developed  to 
a  perfection  incomprehensible  to  us,  such  as  sight  in  the 
day-birds  of  prey,  and  scent  in  the  dog.     Some  animals 
have  certain  faculties  that  presuppose  a  nerve  centre  pecu- 
liar to  them  alone,  and  absent  in  man.     The  gymnotus  eel 
is  al)le  to  give  electric  shocks ;  the  carrier  pigeon  can  find 
its  way  home  again  across  an  entire  continefit;  certain 
carnivorous  wasps  have  such  an  exact  knowledge  of  the 
anatomy  of  articulates  that  they  pierce  with  their  stitigs, 
whicli  are  guided  with  infallible  certainty,  all  the  nerve 
ganglia  in  the  rings  of  a  caterpillar's  body,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  ganglia  in  the  head,  so  that  the  caterpillar  is 
completely  paralyzed,  but  yet  does  not  die,  and  the  living 
body  serves  the  wasps'  brood  for  food,  but  can  not  injure 
them  by  any  movement  in  tlie  narrow  nest.     All  these 
foculties  are  wanting  in  man.     He  will  probably  never 
acquire  them  because  he  does  not  need  them.     He  has  far 


H 


152    THE  psYeiio-priYsioi.oGY  of  ukxits  and  talent. 

more  tlwin  their  eqniviilciit  in  liis  Iiiglier.  more  coniprelieii- 
sive  faculty  of  reason.  He  eonstrucls  for  hiiiiself  more 
powerful  sources  of  electricit}-  than  those  iK>8sessed  by  the 
gymnotus.  With  the  compass  and  map  lie  finds  his  way 
just  as  surely  as  the  eaixier  pigeon.  He  studies  anatomy 
until  he  is  even  more  proficient  in  it  than  the  wasp.  But 
still  it  is  possible  to  imagine  a  human  Iwing  born  as  a  freak 
of  nature,  that  i^ssessed  the  electric  organ  of  the  gym- 
notus, or  tlie  caiTier  pigeon's  organ  of  locality,  or  tlie 
organ  that  rephiees  in  the  wasp  the  text  books  of  anatomy 
and  physiology,  or  an  organ  wliieli  might  enable  him  to 
perceive  the  movements  occurring  in  tlie  brain  centres  of 
otliera,  as  we  can  now  |»reeive  with  our  eyes  and  ears  tlie 
movements  of  another  kinil :  that  is,  to  read  the  thoughts 
of  others.  A  luiman  l)eing  thus  endowed  would  accom- 
plish things  that  we  could  ncjt  help  considering  marvellous. 
He  would  be  credited  with  supernatural  lowers  liy  all  but 
the  most  advanced  minds.  But  lie  would  hardly  ^^e  called 
a  genius.  We  have  to  restiict  this  term  to  those  beings 
who  have  developed  to  an  exceptional  extent — not  some 
sub  or  su|)erhuman  centre — but  some  one  of  those  which 
telong  solely  and  exclusively  to  the  human  race,  one  of 
those  highest  centres  possessed  l>y  man  alone  in  its  most 
perfect  foi*m. 

This  limitation  of  its  meaning  precludes  the  possi- 
bility of  that  misuse  of  the  wonl  to  which  even  those  most 
cai-efid  in  their  huiguagc  are  often  liable.  I  regi-et  the 
necessity  of  introilucing  names,  but  I  am  afraid  I  can  not 
dispense  witli  them  as  ilhistrations  to  make  tliis  argument 
|M»rfectly  clear.  We  call  a  Liszt,  a  Makart,  a  Dawison,  a 
genius.  This  is  no  more  appropriate  than  if  we  were  to 
call  some  esiMicially  muscular  man,  like  tlie  example  above, 
a  ireniiis.  In  all  these  three  cases  the  whole  matter  is 
merely  the  exceptional  state  of  perfection  to  which  certain 


TKE    MlsrSK    OK   TFIK    TKRM    OENinS. 


153 


of  the  very  lowest  centres  have  .itUiiiicd.  To  ik-iiioiistratc 
this  we  must  analyze  the  apparently  very  complex  plie- 
nomeiui  of  a  pianist,  painter  and  tragedian,  and  determine 
their  simple  ultimate  factors. 

Let  us  examine  first  the  pianist's  playing.  It  is  pro- 
duced l)y  certain  motions  of  the  fingers,  hands  and  arms,  (we 
can  omit  the  comparatively  unessential  motions  of  the  feet), 
and  by  an  impulse  which  causes  these  motions  to  be  more  or 
less  violent,  slower  or  faster,  more  even  or  more  irregular. 
There  is  thus  a  tlescending  series  of  organs  to  be  taken 
into  consideration:  first,  a  nc^rve  centre  which  gives  the 
impulse  for  motions  of  various  degrees  of  intensity  and  of 
various  kinds,  changing  with  extraordinary  rapidity ;  sec- 
ondly, nerves  which  are  sensitive  enough  to  transmit  this 
impulse  with  the  greatest  possible  velocity  and  accuracy, 
so  that  it  will  not  undergo  the  slightest  change  in  the  de- 
gree of  its  intensity  nor  in  its  special  character ;  and  finally, 
the  muscles  of  the  upper  limbs,  which  maintain  their  rela- 
tions to  each  other  with  such  precision  that  their  movements 
are  always  accurately  prop«)rtioned  to  the  impulse  received. 
AVe  know  that  the  labor  of  cxmibining  the  movements  of 
the  muscles  for  a  given  purpose — co-ordination — is  per- 
formed b}'  certain  centres,  and  we  have  a  right  to  assume 
that  the  musical  impulses  are  evolved  in  somo  sensory 
centre  which  is  incited  to  automatic  action  by  impressions 
iini)arted  chiefly  by  the  sense  of  hearing,  but  also  l)y  some 
other  senses  and  In-ain  centres  as  well,  it"  these  impressions 
appear  always  or  frequently  in  conjunction  with  those  of 
the  sense  of  hearing.  These  non-acoustic  impressions, 
which  are  usually  combined  with  the  acoustic,  are  princi- 
pally amatory.  Primitive  man,  like  a  long  list  of  animals 
at  the  present  day,  probal)ly  accompanied  his  love-making 
with  noise,  (rhythmical  ci-ies,  singing,  etc.),  and  hence  our 
brain  centres  have  retained  an  organic  association  of  the 


154      THE   PSYCIUVPIIYSIOUM.Y   OF   (IKSllS  AND   TALENT. 

activity  ..f  the  centre  of  propagation  with  the  o.ie  of  the 
«en«xti«n  of  rhythmical  «onucl.    When  one  of  Uu.e  centres 
is  excited  to  action,  the  other  is  affectwl  sj mixithctuullN 
with  it     Love  thns  amuses  musical  impulses,  and  the  opera- 
tion of  the  ceuti-c  controlling  the  musical  impulses  aiyuses 
the  centres  of  love  (p,x.pagation).    B..I  tins  is  far  f  .-om  being 
the  only  association  of  the  kind.     Every  scene,  every  event 
in  the  exterior  world  includes  ele.nents  that  excite  not  one 
sense  alone,  but  all  the  senses  to  action.     Let  us  take  toi 
instance,  a  sunny  morning  in  spring.     The  sense  to  « lucu 
this  scene  principally  appeals  is  of  course  the  sense  ol 
si-rht,  iu*  the  most  essential  element  in  it  is  the  suushme 
and  its  iHiculiar  effect  upon  the  landscape.     But  In^sules 
this,  the  sense  of  smell  m.-eives  the  impression  of  the  odors 
of  the  grasses  mid  flowers,  of  the  ascending  vaix.rs  and  the 
ozone  in  the  air,  the  sense  of  feeling,  the  impression  ol 
co^Jness  and  a  certain  degree  of  moisture,  and  the  sense  ol 
hearing,  of  the  voices  of  certain  animals  and  l.mls  and  the 
rustling  of  the  foliage,  eU-.     Each. separate  complex  scene 
or  phenomenon  consists  thus  of  impressions  upon  several 
or  uiion  all  of  the  senses ;  these  various  impressions,  some 
of  which  are  stronger  and  others  weaker,  are  retained  by 
the  memoiy  as  a  whole,  and  a  certain  one  of  these  impres- 
sions upon  any  one  single  sense  ai-onses  in  the  other  cen- 
tres of  perception  and  sensati.m  the  impressions  usually 
m*ived  in  conjunction  with  it.     In  this  way  the  charactx^r- 
istic  fragrance  of  a  summer  morning  in  the  country  or  in 
■1  forest  will  rectill  the  whole  scene  of  the  summer  inoruing 
to  our  memory,  mid  with  it  all  the  rest  of  the  iininessions 
upon  Uie  senses  which  combined  to  form  the  ,;,s,..,l,lr: 
Ihns  the  sensation  .,f  c-oolness  and  freshness,  the  impivssum 
on  the  hetuing  of  the  cock's  crowing,  the  lark  s  s.mg.  the 
dogs  Uirking  and  the  ringing <.f  the  l«lls.  etc.    Any  exc.U- 
tion  of  any  one  sense,  even  v.-.y    light,  can  thus  exc.i*!,  with 


PSYCHOLOalCAI.    ANALYSIS    Of    THE    PIANO    PLAYER.      155 

the  rest,  the  centre  of  the  sensation  of  musical  sounds  to 
activity,  the  character  of  this  activity  varying  with   the 
nature  of  the  excitation   that  produced  it.     This  sympa- 
thetic activity  of  the  differoiit  centres  proceeds  entirely 
autoniatieallv  and  cntirelv  independent  of  the  couscioii.s- 
iiess.     The  coiisciuusiiess  is  not  even  able  to  distinguish 
what  sensation  it  is  wliieh  excites  another  centre  to  action, 
because  it  is  not  accustomed  to  analyze  and  determine  in 
the  phenomena  observed  Iiow  much  each  sense  has  con- 
tributed to  produce  the  general  effect,  but  usually  considers 
some  one  sensation,  because  it  is  the  most  intense,  the 
only  essentiid  one,  and  entirely  neglects  all  the  rest,  as  they 
are  weaker  and  subordinate.     Not  to  digress  too  far  from 
the  real  subject  of  my  arguinent,  I  will  only  introduce  one 
illustration.     An  impression  upon  the  sense  of  smell,  the 
odor  of  the  oil  paints,  or  of  the  varnish,  forms  one  of  the 
factois  in  the  effect  produced  by  an  oil  painting ;  but  it  is 
so  feel>le  and  of  course  so  unessential  in  comparison  with 
the  impression  upon  the  sense  of  sight,  that  we  are  scarcely 
aware  of  it,  and  overlook  it  entirely,  so  that  we  never  con- 
sider that  the  centre  of  smell  has  anything  whatever  to  do 
with  the  composition  of  the  idea,  "oil-painting,"  on  our  con- 
sciousness.    Nevertheless,  the  mere  impression  upon  the 
centre  of  the  sense  of  smell  of  an  odor  similar  tp  that  of 
oil  paints  or  varnish,  is  sufficient  to  excite  to  action  all  the 
other  centres  that  usually  combine  with  it  to  produce  the 
idea,  "oil-painting";  and  thus  the  idea  of  a  painting  will 
occur  suddenly  to  our  consciousness  without  our  being 
able  to  explain  to  ourselves  how  this  image  happencHl  to  be 
recalled  to  our  memory.     This  is  one  of  the  most  imi)or- 
tint  manifestations  of  the  association  of  ideas  ;  it  exi)lain.s 
the  moods  which  creep  over  us  we  know  not  how ;  it  is 
also  a  plausible  explanation  of  most  of  our  dreams,  that 
when  tfee  centre  of  consciousness  is  working  feebly  or  not 


iHi 


• 

■  1111' 


15f»      THE   FSYCHn-THYSIOUMlV  r>F   (SKNirS  AND   TALENT. 

at  all,  the  seoMlioii  ceiitivs  iwcivc  eveii  very  slight  ^im- 
pressioiis  from  without,  aiKl  aiitoBiatiealb-  work  them  lutt, 
the  idi'us  of  wliich  they  form  a  constituent  part.     To  he  a 
Ihie  performer  on  the  puiiio  forte  an  iudividual  has  there- 
fore to  f iiltiU  tlie  following  conditions :  he  must  [xissess  a 
very  sensitive  nervous  s3-sti>ra,  that  is,  one  exceptionally 
perfeet  in  transmitting  impulses,  his  centre  of  sound  sensa- 
tions must  he  readily  incited  to  impart  impulses  hy  ex^ 
ternal    impressions,    not    merely   those   on   liis   sense   of 
hearing,  but  on  all  his  other  senses,  acecnding  to  the  mech- 
anism explained  iilwve,  and  his  centre  of  co^>rdniation 
must  he  esiM-eiallv  perfect,  so  that  it  can  ci.nibine  the  most 
delicate,    aeeiirate    an<l    comijUeuted    movements   of  the 
muscli  s  of  the  hands  in  the  most  rapid  changes. 

The  iiredominance  of  a  certain  centre  determines  to 
what  class   the   pianist  belongs.      If    Ids   eentre   of  co- 
ordination  is  the  one  principally  developed,  his  fidnuqiie 
will  he  brilliant,  and  he  will  overcome  all  difticulties  with 
great  t^ase,  but  leave  the  impression  of  coldness  and  a  cer- 
t;dii  lack  of  feeling.     Ii;  on  the  contraiy,  the  w'utre  ol 
sound  sensations  as  well  as  that  of  co-ordination  is  exeep- 
tioEallv  developed,  his  playing  will   n<.t  only  be  fine  ui 
its  teJiniqne,  but  it  will  reflect  also  his  varying  and  mani- 
f*,ld  sensations,  and  thus  prmluee  an  animated  and  soulhd 
effect.     An  exceedingly  highly  developed  centre  of  sound 
sensations  will  be  able  to  impart  more  i)owcrful  impulses 
than  the  usual,  familiar  ones,  and  to  combuie  them  m 
original,  Eovel  ways.    Such  a  eentre  constitutes  the  psycho 
physical  foundation  of  a  genius  in  musical  comiK>sition. 
It  is  the  siiecial  characteristic  of  a  Beethoven.     A  centre 
of  sound  sensations  develoiied  to  this  extent,  combined 
with  an  equally  well  developed  centre  of  co-onlination,  pro- 
duces an  individual  who  is  not  only  a  genius  as  a  com- 
poser,  but  also  notable  as  a  performer,  like  ti  Mozart  for 


THE    IXDlVinUALITY   OV   A    PIANIST. 


157 


instance.     If  the  former  centre  is  exceptionally  complete, 
while  yet  the  latter  centre  surpasses  it,  the  result  is  one  of 
those  composers  whose  music  never  produces  its  full  etfect 
unless  it  is  played  by  himself,  or  strictly  according  to  his 
si>ecial  style,  that  is,  according  to  the  peculiarities  of  his 
centre  of  co-ordination.     Chopin  is  an  example  of  this 
latter  class.     An  exceedingly  well  developed  centre  of  co- 
ordination in  combination  with  a  centre  of  sound  sensa- 
tions somewhat  but  not  much  above  the  average,  produces 
a  wonderful   performer,  grand  in   the   rendering  of  the 
music  of  others,  but  almost  below  mediocrity  in  composi- 
ti.>n,  like  Liszt,   who  is  called  a  genius  by  a  mistaken 
application  of  the  term.     His  genius  would  be  due  to  an 
exceptional  development  v)f  the  centre  of  co-ordination,  as 
our  analysis  has  just  shown,  and  be  thus  a  co-ordinating 
genius.     But  the  centre  of    co-ordination    is  one  of  the 
Fower  centres,  and  is  not  exclusively  human.     Its  excep- 
tional development  gives  the  possessor  of  it  no  right  to  the 
:ipi)ellation  of  a  genius,  which  must  be  reserved   for  the 
periection  of  the  exclusively  human  centres.    Some  animals 
disphiy  an  especially  fine  power  of  co-ordination,  such  as 
the  monkeys,  whose  feats  in  climbing  and  balancing  not 
many  human  beings  are  al)le  to  imitate.     Even  in  man, 
:uiy  especial   inoficiency   in  comparatively   low  •forms  of 
activity,  presupposes  very  perfect  centres  of  co-ordination. 
For  instance,  it  requires  a  very  highly  developed  centre  of 
co-ordination  in  the  lower  limbs  to  be  a  fine  skater.     The 
stune  state  of  i>erfection  combined  with  a  well  developed 
eentre  of  sound  sensations  produces  a  surpassing  dancer ; 
on  the  other  hand,  combined  with  well  developed  centres 
of  will— that  most  essential  element  of  courage,  and  of 
judgment— instead  of  a  remarkable  centre  of  sound  sensa- 
tioiis,   it   forms  the   psycho-physi(jal    groundwork  of  an 
exceptionally  fine  horseman.     A  high  development  of  the 


I 


158      THE   l''SYCIItl-PHYSIOL<K,iV   OF   (ilLXll-S   ANI>  TALENT. 

ceiitiT  of  oo-ordiiiatioii  in  the  iipi>er  Hoibs  is  the  cause 
of  a  long    list   of   faculties,   vaiying    with    the    higher 
centres,  as  the  latter  are  developed  and  communicate  their 
impulses  to  the  co-ordinating  centre.     The  combination  of 
tlie  centre  of  co-ordination  with  that  of  sound  sensations 
will  prwlwce,  as  we  have  seen,  a  finished  pianist;    the 
former  centre  combined  with  the  centres  of  will  and  of 
judgment,  will  produce  an  excellent  fencer.     A  curious 
parallelism  exists  thus  between  the  dancer  and  the  pianist 
on  one  hand,  and  between  the  horseman  and  the  fencer  on 
the  other.     Hence  to  siMjak  of  a  pianist  as  a  genius  is  no 
more  appropriate  than  to  apply  the  term  to  a  dancer,  a 
liorsemau  or  a  fencer.     This  topic  is  of  vast  extent  and 
interest.     An  adequate  discussion  of  it  would  fill  volumes 
instead  of  chapters.     We  could  combine  almost  infinitely 
the  dillerent  centres,  and  see  what  especial  skill  would  re- 
sult from  these  combinations.     But  tliis  must  be  left  to 
the  reader,  who  may  be  stimulated  to  attempt  it  by  the 
preceding  examples.     One  other  question   I   will   touch 
ii|)ou,  without  discussing  it  in  detail.     What  would  become 
of  a  man  with  the  organic  qualifications  of  a  Liszt,  if  he 
had  been  born  before  the  piano  or  any  other  instrument 
that  could  be  made  to  produce  sounds  by  the  motion  of 
the  hands,  had  been  invented?     In  that  case  there  would 
not  l>e  the  characteristic  combination  of  the  two  centres,  of 
which  one  is  exceptionally  and  the  other  fairly  developed. 
Each  centre  would  work  for  itself  alone,  and  the  result 
would  be  that  instead  of  a  Liszt,  there  would  be  an  indi- 
vidual distinguished  by  great  proficiency  in  all  manual 
tosks__such  as  tying  or  braiding  knots;   he  might  even 
prove  an  expert  sleight  of  hand  performer— with  musical 
inclinations  which  might  manifest  themselves  merely  as 
a  general  love  of  song,  or  in  attempts  to  sing  or  whistle. 
Kvea  the  activity  of  the  noblest  of  the  centres  that  com- 


IH 


ANALYSIS   OF   THE   PAINTER'S   ART. 


159 


hine  to  form  the  pianist,  whose  most  advanced  stute  of  de- 
velopment actually  docs  produce  a  genius,  like  Beetliovcn, 
thill  is,  tlie  centre  of  sound  sensations,  is  still  nothing  but 
a  purely  automatic,  purely  emotional,  centre,  and  falls 
below  every  cogitational  form  of  activity.  The  work  of 
the  less  noble  centre  of  co-ordination  is  not  altogether  an 
iiilellectual,  nor  exclusively  human  form  of  activity,  but  is 
found  in  many  organisms  outside  of  the  human  race  and 
even  in  an  extreme  state  of  perfection. 

Let  us  now  apply  the  same  method  of  analysis  to  the 
artist,  to  a  Makart,  for  example.     A  work  of  art,  a  paint- 
ing, is  also  something  very  complicated,  whose  simple  cle- 
ments  play  the  most  varied  parts  in  the  production  of  the 
general  effect.     What  wc  have  to  consider  in  a  painting  is 
first,  the  effect  of  coloring,  next,  the  form,  and  lastly,  the 
meaning  conveyed  to  the  mind,  called  eith3r  the  subject  or 
the  composition.    Our  centre  of  light-sensations  is  so  consti- 
tuted that  it  experiences  the  impressions  of  certain  colors 
and  combinations  of   colors  as  agTeeable,   and   those  of 
others  as  disagreeable.     1  am  not  able  to  explain  with  cer- 
tainty the  cause  of  these  differences  in  these  subjective 
sensations.     Helmholtz  and  Bruecke  have  published  the 
results  of  their  glorious  investigations  on  this  subject,  and 
have  made  it  seem,  at  the  least,  very  probable  that  the  sub- 
jective effect  of  the  combination  of  certain  colors  as  well 
as  of  certain  tones,  depends  upon  the  proportion  which  the 
number,  extent  and  form  of  the  vibrations  or  wavt;s  bear 
to  each  other,  these  vibrations  })eing  prol)ably  the  cause  of 
the  changes  in  our  organs  of  sense  which  we  recognize  as 
colors   or    tones.     And    thus,    according   to   these    great 
scientists,  all  our  agreeal)le  and  disagreeable  sensations  in 
regard  to  colors  and  tones,  have  their  origin  in  the  uncon- 
scious determination  of  the  simple  or  com|)lex  arithmetical 
and  geometrical  proportions  between  the  movements  of  the 


lliO      THE    PSYrlKhlMIYSloLiHiY    i>V  (lENirS   AND   TALENT. 

ether  or  iiiiitter.  But  Im  this  tis  it  iiiiiy,  it  is  enough  tor 
our  purpose  that  we  kuow  by  exiierieuce  that  there  are 
agi-eeable  and  disagreeable  colors  and  coml)inations  of 
colors.  An  especially  finely  develoiied  centre  of  light-sen- 
sations will  not  ooly  enal)U'  :i  niiin  to  perceive  the  impres- 
sions of  colore  with  especial  intensity,  and  thus  to  Uikc 
especial  delight  in  certain  combinations  of  colors,  and  U> 
he  especially  reiMslletl  by  discordant  ones,  but  it  also  ena- 
bles him  to  discover  the  colors  and  the  combinations  of 
colore  that  will  produce  an  extraoixlinarily  agreeable  etlect. 
The  centre  to  which  we  are  now  referring  is  one  of  the 
lower  cerebral  centres,  like  all  the  centres  of  sense.  It  is 
by  no  means  an  essential  attribute  of  humanity,  but  is 
distributed  tlut>ughout  the  animal  kingdom  to  its  very 
lowest  oitlere.  We  surely  have  a  right  to  assume  that 
many  kinds  of  birils,  and  even  I >utterflies,  Ijcetles  and 
molluscs  possess  it,  m  the  brilliant  coloring  of  tlicse 
creatures  would  l»c  otherwise  perfectly  inconii)reliensiblc ; 
but  since  Darwin,  it  has  Ijeen  generally  conceded  that  the; 
Iieautif  ul  coloring  of  animals  is  the  result  of  natural  selec- 
tion, and  is  thus  due  to  tlie  fact  that  the  individual  adorned 
with  it  was  singled  ont  from  preference  by  the  individuals 
of  tlie  opposite  sex,  which  would  \m  inconceivable  ifit  did 
not  presuppose  in  these  individuals  a  sense  to  pereeiM!  tlu; 
eiect  of  coloring,  a  ilelight  in  beautiful  colors.  As  regards 
his  color-sense  alone,  that  is,  his  delight  in  beautiful  colors, 
man  is  no  more  than  on  a  par  with  the  magpie,  the  pea- 
cock's eye  bnttertly,  and  tlie  sea  anemone.  The  ciiltivalion 
of  the  centre  of  light  M*nsations  is  a  practice  in  art,  and  is 
sufficient  to  enable  him  to  produce  works  of  ail  with  agree- 
ably diversifietl  and  brilliant^hued  flat  surfaces,  such  as 
carpets,  tapestry  and  frescoes,  with  harmonious  blendings 
of  colore.  In  tact,  those  paintings  tliat  owe  their  origin  to 
the  impulse  of  this  centre  will  pmbalily  produce  the  same 


now    WE    INTKRPRET    WHAT    Wll    SEE. 


Ul 


effect  as  a  handsome  oriental  rug,  although  as  works  of 
art  they  rank  much  lower,  not  being  as  perfect  in  their 
way  as  the  rug. 

The  second  element  in  the  effect  produced  by  a  paint- 
ing is  the  form.  The  picture  is  an  effort  to  deceive  by 
means  of  the  external  appearance  of  certain  objects.  The 
means  employed  by  the  artist  to  accomplish  this  deception 
are  drawing  and  coloring.  (Of  course  T  only  make  this 
distinction  for  the  sake  of  convenience,  as  at  bottom,  what 
we  call  drawing  is  only  one  form  of  the  effect  of  color; 
drawing  deceives  us  in  regard  to  things  also,  by  the  use  of 
different  degrees  of  light  in  opposition,  that  is,  colors, 
usually  black  and  white.)  In  reality  we  see  things  accord- 
ing to  their  situation  in  space,  according  to  their  distance 
from  us  and  from  each  other,  and  in  form,  size  and  lights, 
as  they  are  situated  above  or  beneath  us  or  to  one  side. 
The  same  l)all  looks  large  to  us  when  it  is  near,  it  looks 
small  when  it  is  at  a  distance  from  us ;  sometimes,  if  it 
catches  the  light  properly,  w^^  see  a  full  half  of  it.  in  otlu^r 
cases  merel}'  a  larger  or  smaller  portion  of  it ;  we  do  not 
l>ecome  directlv  coi^nizant  of  the  fact  that  it  is  round  ;  we 
only  know  that  the  rounded  side  lying  nearest  us  catches 
the  light  in  a  diflerent  way,  and  shows  an  entirel>'  different 
tint  from  the  parts  more  remote.  Notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  the  reflection  of  this  ball  upon  the  retina  varies 
with  every  change  in  its  position,  we  trace  it  to  one  and 
the  same  cause  or  object,  that  is,  w^e  recognize  that  it  is 
the  same  ball,  whether  we  see  it  large,  close  at  hand,  or 
small,  in  the  distance,  or  only  a  half  of  it,  or  a  still  smaller 
portion,  or  lighted  from  in  front,  lightest  in  the  centre  and 
shading  off  to  the  edge  of  the  circular  reflection,  or,  lighted 
from  the  rear,  darkest  at  the  centre  and  growing  lighter 
towards  the  edges.  What  we  have  h^arned  to  understand 
from  these  reflections  or  images  upon  the  retina,  is  the 


1fi2      THE    PSYrilO-PHYSlOl-rx.V  OF   flENIlIS   AND   TALENT. 

kiiowlediie  obtaiiie*!  h}-  the  (!*M>iM;niti<»n  of  tlie  other  senses 
and  of  t lie  judgment.  In  reulity  we  see  nothing  bnt  flat 
iinaigc^s,  nil  in  the  same  pkiiie.  the  ditlerent  parts  of  which 
have  different  sizes,  different  colors  find  different  degrees 
of  lirightness.  Tlint  these  tlitfereiiccs  in  coloring,  size  and 
llgliting  corres[K>nd  with  differencs  in  the  ilist:incc.  tliat  the 
ol)jects  wh it'll  fippear  to  he  all  in  the  same  plane,  arc  in 
reality  in  difftjrent  planes — we  have  learned  l»y  experience. 
To  know  that  a  flat  image  of  a  circnlar  shajjc  \vhosc  centre 
catches  the  light  differently  from  the  edges,  represents  :» 
hall,  \vt?  mnst  at  some  time  lia\c  felt  of  the  ol)jcct  tlins  re- 
flected, we  nuist  remember  the  motions  which  onr  liand  had 
to  make  to  enclose  the  snrfacc  of  this  object:  tlu'  sonsc  of 
feeling  has  to  come  to  the  assistance  of  the  siMise  of  sight 
t\m]  complete  its  work..  In  tla»  sam**  way,  in  cn*der  to  know 
that  a  house  appearing  to  ns  small  and  indistinct,  is  in  fact 
hirm\  bnt  far  a.wav.  we  must  at  some  time  have  traversed 
the  distanee  between  ns  and  some  such  small  ami  indis- 
tinct olijcct,  and  rcnuMiiber  the  motions  that  our  limbs 
were  obliged  to  make  bcforti  the  snuUl  and  indistinct  ol»- 
ject  became  lai'ge  and  clearly  dt»fineil.  The  artist  copies 
objects,  not  as  tiiey  really  are,  but  as  they  are  habitually 
retlcclcd  upon  the  retina,  that  is,  in  their  apparent  rela- 
tions as  to  size,  color  and  light,  and  if  lie  portrays  them 
accurately,  we  act  according  to  acquired  habit,  and  inter- 
pret this  plane  painting  as  we  are  aceiist<nned  to  interpret 
tlie  i>l:uie  images  on  our  retina,  that  is.  we  see  in  some 
little  dot,  painted  with  indistinct  outlines,  in  spite  of  its 
small  size,  a  large  house,  in  spite  of  ihe  fact  tliat  it  is  there 
on  the  canvas,,  onl}*  a  few  feet  from  our  (»ycs.  a  house  in 
the  distance,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  is  there  upon 
the  same  expanse  of  cam  as  with  many  otlier  olijects,  a 
house  sitiuited  in  a  far  more  tlistant  jjlaiu^  than  the  trees 
or  otlier  objects  in  the  foregrouiHl     The  work  of  interpret- 


WHAT   WE    SEE   AND    WHAT   WE   THINK   WE   SEE.      163 

ing  is  not  carried  on  in  the  eye,  of  course,  but  in  the 
higher  centres,  the  centres  of  memory  and  judgment;  it  is 
only  commenced  by  the  impression  on  the  sight.     To  pro- 
(Uice  an  image  in  our  consciousness  the  painter  has  there- 
fore only  to  bring  some  single  characteristic  of  the  object 
in  question  before  our  eyes,  the  outline,  for  instance,  or 
the  contrast  of  light  and  shade  produced  by  it.     Memory 
automatically  adds  to  this  all  the  remaining  charactei-istics, 
because  it  is  accustomed  to  see  this  characteristic  ahvnys 
appear  in  conjunction  with  the  rest.    Thus  we  often  believe 
we  see  things  with  our  eyes  in  a  painting  which  in  reality 
are  not  at  all  upon  the  canxas,  which  therefore  our  eye  can 
not  see  at  all,  but  which  are  added  by  our  brain  centres, 
which  complete  automatically  the  idea  merely  suggested 
by  the  artist  in  his   i)ainting.     I  will  illustrate  this  by 
merely  one  example.     We  think  we  see  in  a  painting  the 
single  hairs  in  a  man's  beard,  the  single  leaves  on  a  tree. 
Bnt  the  artist  has  not  painted  either  hairs  or  leaves,  but 
merely  a  certain  effect  of  the  light  on  an  irregular  brown- 
ish or  greenish  surface ;  but  as  we  have  often  ol)servcd 
this  light  effect  on  beards  and  foliage,  and  have  learned  by 
experrence  that  it  presupposes  hairs  or  leaves,  our  memory 
supplies  the  hairs  or  leaves  where  they  are  lacking  in  the 
picture,  and  in  our  brain  centres  we  see  something  that 
our  eyes  do  not  see  at  all.     The  art  of  the  painter  consists 
therefore  in  finding  and  imitating  the  special  characteris- 
tics of  objects  just  as  they  are  reflected  upon  our  retina  in 
reality.     He  can  represent  all  the  characteristics  or  only  a 
few  of  the  more  essential  ones.     The  outline  alone  reminds 
us  of  a  single  characteristic— the  boundaries  of  the  object, 
and  thus   requires   extensive   assistance   from   the  brain 
centres,  if  it  alone  is  to  suggest  the  idea  of  the  object. 
The  perspective  outline  gives  us  at  once  an  idea  of  the 
relations   existing  between   the  objects  in  space,  as   we 


111 


Ik 


lfi4      TriE   PSYCHO-FHTSIOLOaV  OP  llEXIt'S  AND   TALENT. 


iuc]  JLigaiii  ill  it  the  fipp:iretit  cliffereiiees  in  size  that 
we  observe  in  reality*.  A  shaded  drawing  supplies  another 
cliaraeteristic  to  tlie  olijeets,  tlie  differences  in  the  effects 
of  light  and  shade,  which  in  realitj-  assists  us  in  esti- 
mating the  size  and  distance,  and  thus  tlic  construc- 
tion of  the  ol»ject.  Ami  color,  finally,  supplies  tlie  last 
characteristic  which  the  sense  of  sight  is  capable  of  per- 
ceiving,- and  a  painting  correct  in  outline,  perspective, 
effects  of  light  an<l  sliadc  and  coloring,  produces  exactly 
the  same  impression  upon  tlie  eye  as  the  objects  tlicm- 
selves,  so  that  it  is  impossible  for  the  liigher  centres  to  dis- 
tinguish between  tlie  two  impressions,  and  to  refrain  from 
recognizing  the  objects  themselves  in  the  painted  imitation 
of  them,  which  lias  all  of  their  optical  characleristics.  Tlio 
work  oi*  the  artist  is  a  very  close  analj'sis  of  his  impres- 
sions, in  which  lie  must  distinguisli  ]>etween  the  workings 
of  his  highei-  centres  and  of  his  sense  of  sight  To  retain 
tlie  illustration  cited  above:  when  he  sees  foliage,  he  has 
to  ilissect  this  sight  and  come  to  the  conclusion  that  lie 
does  not  see  leaves  with  his  C3-e8,  lint  only  a  peculiar 
effect  of  light  and  shade  on  an  iiregular  greenish  surface, 
wliicli  his  memoiy  has  to  resolve  first  into  the  images  of 
single  leaves ;  he  must  tlierefore  represent  in  his  painting 
not  the  leaves,  whicli  he  imagines  he  sees,  and  doc^s  not 
really  see,  Init  the  peculiar  effect  of  light  and  shade  on  the 
irregular  green  surface,  whicli  is  all  that  his  eye  perceives 
in  fact.  The  uninitiated  have  not  the  least  idea,  what  a 
difference  there  is  between  what  our  eye  rcidly  sees  and 
what  we  imagine  we  see,  when  we  arc  I'ccciving  any  given 
impression  n|xm  tiie  sense  of  sight.  IJiit  the  painter  has  to 
ignore  the  idea  completely,  and  confine  himself  exclusive- 
ly to  the  impression  tliat  pi-oduced  it.  Tliis  analysis  pro- 
ceeds unconsciously.  It  is  founded  on  a  faculty  |iossessed 
by  the  centres  of  llght^sensations  to  inncnvato  the  muscles 


DIFFERENCE  BETWEEN  A  PAINTING  AND  A  PHOTOGRAPH.   165 

employed  in  the  acts  of  drawing  and  painting,  without  any 
intervention  on  the  part  of  the  higher  centres  of  memory 
and  judgment.     The  hand  can  thus  draw  and  paint  only 
what  the  centre  of  light-sensations  is  actually  perceiving, 
that  is,  sees,  and  not  what  the  higher  centres  add  to  com- 
plete or   alter   it.     This   direct  connection   between   the 
centres  of  light- sensations  and  those  of  m(>tion,  which  is 
tlie  organic  foundation  of  the  special  artistic  talent,  does 
not  entirely  exclude  the  intervention  of  the  higher  centres 
however.     These  latter  select  from  among  the  constituent 
parts  of  the  impression  received  by  the  centre  of  light- 
sensations   from    some  object,  those   few  that  are  most 
essential,  which  they  retain,  and  imitate  by  muscular  move- 
ments; while  those  that  are  unessential  are  entirely  or 
[lartially  neglected.     The  feeling,  in  many  cases  uncon- 
scious, that  a  certain  characteristic,  an  outlire,  or  an  effect 
of  light,  ought  to  produce  the  idea  of  one  special  object 
ratlicr  than  another  characteristic,  is  what  raises  the  work 
of  tiie  artist  from  a  mere  activity  of  the  senses  and  muscles 
to  be  an  intellectual  activity,  and  causes  a  painting  to  be 
something  different  from  a  photograph.     But  after  all,  this 
activity  is  yet  of  a  low  standard;    it  proceeds  but  to  a 
very  limited  extent  from  the  highest  centres  and  does  not 
appeal  to  the  highest  centres.     Its  result  is  a  woFk  of  art 
the  sole  merit  of  which  is  truth ;  but  an  uninteresting,  in 
no  way  stimulating  truth.     An  individual  who  iwssesses 
the  gift  of  portraying   the   impressions  received  by  his 
organ  of  sight  alone,  without  any  admixture  of  what  mem- 
ory and  judgment  have  supplied  to  complete  them,  will  be 
able  to  dmw  still  life  exceedingly  well,  and  if  he  has  a 
sense  for  colors,  also  to  paint.     He  will  become  one  of  the 
classics  in  so  far  as  his  treatment  of  asparagus  and  oysters 
is  concerned,  and  become  fixmous  in  the  portrayal  of  kettles 
and  glassware.    But  beyond  this  he  will  not  attain  success. 


166     THE  FSYCnfl-PIIYSIOLOOT  OP  CIENIL'S  AND  TALENT. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  third  element  to  be  taken 
into  consideration  in  studying  a  painting,  to  its  intellectual 
imiwrt,  that  is,  to  what  it  represents,  its  substance  or 
idea.     The  same  talent  of  analysis  that  enables  the  painter 
to  separate  the  really  optical  appearance  of  objects  from 
their  psychical  image,  and  to  seize  and  reproduce  tlie  most 
essential  elements  of  tliis  npijearance,  in  an  advanced  state 
of  cnlilvation  makes  it  ix)ssible  for  liim  to  determine  and 
portray  the  really  optical  api>earance  of  events.     We  are 
fdike  unable  t«)  see  the  roundness  of  a  ball  in  actual  reality, 
IIS  we  are  to  see  a  iiio\  enient,  or  a  state  of  emotion.     In 
the  former  case,  what  we  actually  see  is  a  certain  charac- 
teristic play  of  light  on  a  flat  circular  surlaee.  in  the  lattei*, 
a  succession  of  images  or  a  certain  position  of  the  muscles 
of  tlie  fare,  t!i(»  limbs  and  the  l>ody.     But  expi-rience  has 
demonstnited  to  us  tliat  tlie  fiat  ch*cidar  surface  when  it 
has  a  certain  effect  of  liglit  uiion  it,  represents  a  liall,  and 
in  the  same  way  we  know  by  experience  that  a  succession 
of  identical  images,  appearing  in  turn  upon  our  retina,  and 
requiring  movements  of  tlie  muscles  of  our  eyes  and  necks 
to  continue  to  see  them  distinctly,  signif}'  movement  on 
the  paii  of  the  object  seen,  and  that  a  frowning  brow  and 
clenched  fist  indicate  anger.     The  painter  now  seizes  the 
optical  characteristic  which  Is  peculiar  to  anger,  joy  or 
soiTOW,  for  instance,  and  as  he  faithfully  reproduces  it,  it 
arouses  in  onr  minds  the  idea  tliat  he  has  acttually  por- 
trayed on  his  canvas  tlie  cjoiTCSiKinding  frame  of  mind 
which,  in  reality,  it  is  irai30ssil>le  to  portray.     The  limita- 
tions of  the  painter's  art  can  l)e  readil}"  deduced  from  the 
foregoing.     In  the  firet  place  his  art  is  purely  historical; 
that  is,  it  can  only  reproduce  events  identical  or  similar  to 
those  we  have  already  seen,  with  whose  optical  character- 
istics we  are  already  familiar.    If  the  painter  were  to  rep- 
resent ©vents  of  which  we  know  al>soliitely  notliing,  we 


LIMITATIONS   OF   THE    ART   OF   FAINTING. 


167 


would  be  looking  upon  an  optical  appearance  which  we 
would  not  know  how  to  interpret ;  the  retina  would  receive 
impressions,  but  the  memory  and  the  judgment  would  not 
be  able  to  add  anything  to  complete  them,  and  the  painting 
would  merely  produce  an   impression  upon  the  sense  of 
siLdit  without  evolving  any  idea,  which  the  painter,  with 
the  means  at  his  command  in  his  art,  is  not  able  to  give, 
but  only  to  suggest,  and  which  our  own  mind  has  to  con- 
struct upon  the  foundation  of  the  suggestion  supplied  by 
the  painter.    In  the  next  place  the  painter's  art  is  not  able 
to  represent  any  very  specific  mental  processes,  but  must 
restrict  itself  to  broad,  ccmiprehensive  generalities.     It  is 
beyond  the  power  of  this  ai-t  to  exi)ress  the  special  thought : 
''I  am  dissatisfied  with  the  way  I  have  spent  the  last  ten 
years,  and  particularly  with  the  career  I  have  chosen  ;  "  at 
best  it  is  able  to  express  in  general  terms  the  sentiment: 
"1  am   dissatisfied."     Why?    Because  dissatisfaction  in 
general  has  a  visible  characteristic,  namely,  a  certain  ex- 
pression and  pose,  while  dissatisfaction  with  one's  career 
or  with  a  certain  portion  of  one's  life,  has  no  special  optical 
characteristic,  peculiar  to  it  alone,  to  distinguish  it  from 
dissatisfiiction  in  general.     These  limitations  to  the  art  of 
painting  cause  it  to  be  a  purely  emotional  and  not  at  all  a 
cogitational  art.     All  that  is  entirely  novel,  aH  that  is 
purely  personal,  all  that  is  not  associated  with  familiar 
ideas,  is  l)eyond  its  reach.     But  the  genius  of  tlie  painter 
must  consist  in  the  first  place,  in  his  al)ility  to  discover  in 
even  very  complex  phenomena,  certain  optical  characteris- 
tics peculiar  to  them  and  to  them  alone,  which  yet  would 
escape  all  but  the  closest  and  most  searching  analysis,  in 
the  second  place,  in  his  reproducing  with  extreme  fidelity 
to  nature,  the  characteristics  which  he  has  perceived,  and, 
in  the  third  place,  in  his  selecting  momentous  events  as 
the  subject  of  his  representation.     The  mere  possession  of 


168     THE  P8YCH0.PHY810LCKJY  OP  GENIUS  AND  TALENT.    . 

talent,  and  of  mmm,  the  laek  of  it,  woeM  never  enable  a 
painter  to  compete  with  the  genius,  at  least  on  the  first  and 
second  pohits,  as  it  wonld  be  beyond  Ms  power  to 
analyze  jipi^eaninces  into  theu*  essential  optical  character- 
istics and  portray  these  clmnicU^ri sties  with  fidelity;  all 
that  snc'h  a  jKiinter  can  do  is  to  iinitote  the  artistic  analysis 
of  the  appearances  of  objects  alreaily  provided  him  by  the 

genius. 

We  have  thns  the  simple  elements  which  combined, 
produce  a  genius  in  painting :  the  sense  of  color,  the  alnl- 
ity  to  distinguish  belween  what  is  really  seen  by  the  eye, 
and  what  is  added  to  tliis  by  tlie  mind  to  complete  it,  and 
lastly,  the  iwwerof  tracing  componnd  events  to  the  optical 
clianicteristics  peculiar  to  tlieni  alone,  which  at  once  aflbnl 
a  clue  to  their  meaning.  Tlie  two  former  faculties  are  low 
and  automatic;  tlie  possession  of  tliem  tl<H!S  not  entitle 
one  in  the  least  to  tlic  appellation  of  "genius."  But  the 
third  faculty  presupposes  the  intervention  of  certain  higher 
centres  and  requires  a  new  and  iiideijendent  form  of  activ- 
ity—the discovery  of  the  distinguisliing  optical  character- 
istics, which  had  never  previously  l)een  recognized  as  suck 
It  is  not  nwessary  for  all  these  faculties  to  he  coml>ine<l 
nor  to  be  developed  all  to  the  same  tlegree.  As  one  or  the 
other  predominates,  the  special  features  of  the  painter's 
genius  alters  with  it  Skill  in  analysis,  fidelity  to  natnre 
and  a  sense  of  color,  <!oml»ined  in  about  ecpial  ijerfcction, 
produce  a  llapliael  Tliis  combination  enaliles  one  to 
create  a  Sistine  Madonna,  which  i)ortrays  the  essential 
(characteristics  of  that  sight  which  arouses  the  most  iKiwer- 
f„l  emotions  in  man,  (much  less  in  woman,  an.l  „..t  at  all 
in  the  immature  individual),  that  is,  the  sight  of  woman, 
beautiful  and  pure,  wliich  apiMjals  to  his  sex  centres, 
and  of  the  deity,  which  appeals  to  his  inherited  sense  of 
mysticism  j  while  at  the  same  time  the  painting  produces 


FROM  RArnAEL  TO  MAKART. 


169 


the   impression   ol"  Initb    in   dniwiiig   and   coloring,    and 
causes  agreeable  sensations  by  the  harmony  of  its  coloi^. 
A  Murillo  and  a  Velasquez  display  the  same  harmony  in 
their  coloring,  with  a  great(ir  optical  fidelity  to  nature,  but 
they  do  not  arouse  the  same  emotions,  because  the  sub- 
stance of  their  most  important  works  does  not  appeal  to 
two  such  powerful  sentiments  as  love  and  mysticism,  but 
either  to  the  latter  alone  or  to  mere  curiosity,  to  the  more 
or  less  superficial  interest  in  all  human  events.     (I  am  not 
referring  to  IMurillo's   Madonnas,  as  I   do  not  consider 
them  his  best  creations,  but  to  his  grand  epic  pictures  in 
aie  Caridad.)     Exquisite  coloring,  a  moderate  amount  of 
fidelity  to  nature,  and  the  association,  not  of  deep-seated 
human,  ])ut  of  patriotic  and  national  emotions,  produce  a 
Paolo  Veronese.     Fidelity  to  naturc  and  a  subject  of  im- 
portiuiwj,  without  any  special  charm  in  coloring,  produce  a 
Cornelius  or  Feuerbach.     If  the  artist's  highest  gift  is 
lacking,  that  is,  the  power  of  portraying  objects  or  impor- 
tant events,  in  their  essential  optical  characteristics,  while  at 
the  same  time,  optical  truth  and  sense  for  color  are  well  de- 
veloped, then  we  have  a  Leibl,  a  ]Meissonier,  a  Hondekoeter, 
artists  producing  works  that  are  fascinating  and  charming, 
but  hardly  capable  of  arousing  any  emotions  of  impor- 
tance.    Such  artists  hardly  deserve  the  tem  geiiius.    A 
great  predominance  of  the  faculty  of  seeing  and  repro- 
ducing with  optical  fidelity  to  nature,  with  the  highest 
powei's  of  analysis  and  a  sense  of  color  only  partially  de- 
vcloixjd  or  not  developed  at  all,  results  in  a  Courbet,  whose 
ixiintings  are  neither  agreeable  to  the  sense  of  color,  nor 
significant  in  their  subject,  but  optically  so  true  that  they 
produce  exactly  the  same  impressions  upon  us  as  the  ob- 
jcH?ts  in  reality.     This  brings  us  almost  to  photography, 
with  the  single  slight  difl*erence  that  pliotography  impar- 
tially reiJi-oduces  all  the  optical  characteristics— their  color- 


170     THE  ■p8Y€HO-PIIY8IOUtCiY  <>F   OEXIUH  AND  TALENT. 

ing  fxcepteci—while  in  a  Courbet  a  higher  ceatre  dekiins 
the  image  on  its  uiieoiiscioiis  journey  from  the  retina  to  the 
painting  liand,  suppresses  some  unessential  element,  and 
allows  only  the  specially  diaraeteristic  ones  to  pass.     And 
lastly,  a  sense  of  eolor  alone  produces  a  Makart,  who  unde^ 
stands  the  art  of  combining  agreeable  colors,  like  that  Aus- 
tralian harlequin  bin!  in  its  artificial  bower,  but  does  not 
see  nor  reproduce  the  ol)jects  with  optical  fidelity  to  nature, 
nor  have  the  power  of  representing  significant  events  or 
sights  by  their  essential  visible  characteristics,  so  that 
others  can  understand  thein  and  receive  tlie  emotions  from 
them,  whicli  the  events  or  sights  tliemsclves  would  be  able 
to  arouse.     It  would  therefore  not  lie  allowable  to  call  a 
Makurt  a  genius,  unless  this  title  were  applied  also  to 
the  bird  mentioned  aliove. 

We  can  disi)ose  of  the  actor  much  more  rapidly.    His 
peculiar  faculty  cwnsists  in  the  development— obtained  by 
special  cultivation— of  those  organic  attributes  which  arc 
the  most  uuivci-sal,  not  only  among  human  beings  but  also 
among  the  higher  animals,  viz.,  the  faculty  of  imitation, 
and  the  alternate  operation  of  ideas  upon  movements  and 
of  movements  upon  ideas.     There  is  no  need  to  waste  any 
words  upon  the  feculty  of  mimicry.     Everj'  one  knows 
what  it  is,  and  it  will  be  the  task  of  one  of  the  ensuing 
chapters  to  show  upon  what  organic  grounds  it  is  founded. 
The  alternate  operation  of  ideas  and  movements,  on  the 
contrary,  may  require  a  few  words  of  explanation.     All 
impressions  from  without  which  are  transmitted  by  the 
sensor}'  nerves  to  the  centres  in  the  spinal  cord  or  brain, 
arouse  a  ceitain  activity  in  these  centres,  which  is  appre- 
hended by  our  senses  as  an  impulse  to  movement,     (It 
may  be  just  mentioned  here,  without  entering  into  details, 
that  even  when  the  impression  from  without  apparently 
incites  merely  to  conscious  mental  activity— cogitation— or 


'o. 


ANALYSIS   OF   THE   ACTOB  S   ART. 


171 


to  the  unconscious,  automatic  lu'iivity  of  the  higher  cen- 
tres—emotion— and  yet  not  to  any  pereeptil)le  niovenii'iit. 
an  impulse  to  movement,  even  if  only  very  feeble,  is  im- 
parted by  it,  which  especially  sensitive  persons,  as  the 
well-known  "mind  readers,"  are  just  able  as  yet  to  perceive 
in  some  cases.)     Let  us  take  a  coarse  and  therefore  easily 
understood  example.     The  sensory  nerves  in  the  point  of 
a  finger  which  heedlessly  has  come  too  near  a  hot  stove 
lid,  will  transmit  an  impression  to  the  spinal  cord  and  the 
brain  which  will  be  perceived  in  the  lower  centres  in  tiie 
spinal  cord  as  indefinite  danger,  and  more  definitely  in  the 
hi^dier  centre  in  the  brain  as  pain,  that  is,  as  the  pain  of  a 
burn.     The  centre  in  the  spinal  cord  replies  to  this  intima- 
tion by  an  impulse  imparted  to  the  muscles  of  the  arm, 
which  produces  a  rapid  withdrawal  of  the  hand,  and  the 
brain  centre,  by  an  impulse  imparted  to  tlie  muscles  of 
the  face,  lungs  and  throat,  which  is  followed  by  a  pninful 
contortion  of   the  features,   and    the  utterance  of  a  cry. 
The  sensation  or  conception  of  the  pain  of  al)urn  has  thus 
produced  certain  impulses  to  movement.     Vice  versa,  the 
same  movements,— that  is,  the  abrui)t  withdrawal  of  the 
hand,  the  characteristic  contortion  of  the  lacial  muscles, 
and  the  utterance  of  a  cry  produced  by  violently  contract- 
ing the  intercostal  muscles  and  the  diaphragm,  while  the 
muscles  of  the  larynx  are  held  in  a  position  to  correspond 

will  arouse  in  the  higher  brain  centres  the  sensation  or 

idea  of  a  sudden  pain  in  the  hand.  Any  one  can  try  the 
following  experiment:  let  hiin  lirst  determine  in  what 
movements  the  moral  condition  of  in-ofound  sorrow  attains 
to  visible  expression  with  him— be  it  the  head  bowed 
down,  a  characteristic  expression,  a  certain  tone  of  the 
voice,  sobs,  etc.— let  him  begin  now  to  imitate  accurately 
all  these  muscular  movements  and  very  soon  he  will  notice, 
perhaps  to  his  astonishment,  that  his  frame  of  mind  has 


1,72      THE  MYCHO-PHYSIOLOGY   OP  UKNIU8  AND  TALENT. 

Iiecoiiie  n  pioloiiiidly  sorrowful  one.     He  will  tlieii  even 
perceive  lliati  even  those  pIienoineiMi  attendant  iiix)n  this 
emotional  state,  which  can  not  be  produced  by  an  effort  of 
the  will,  as  tliey  are  not  caused  by  the  movements  of  the 
transverse  muscles,  such  as  the  shedding  of  tears,  gloomy 
associations  of  ideas,  pictures  of  the  imagination,  etc.,  will 
make  their  appearance.     We  must  constantly  bear  in  mind 
that  the  nerves  which  run  from  the  extremities  of  the  l>ody 
to  the  centres,  these  centres  and  the  nerves  which  run  from 
them  to  other  centres  or  to  muscles— form  one  single  appa- 
mtns,  in  which  the  connection  of  the  separate  parts  has  be- 
come organic  and  automatic,  and  that  the  apparatus  goes 
tln-ough  the  whole  round  of  its  automatic  work,  no  matter  at 
what  point  it  is  set  in  motion,  nor  whether  it  is  started  in  the 
correct  direction  or  reversed— whether  from  ideas  to  move- 
ments or  from  movements  to  ideas.    This  is  tlie  mechanism 
with  which  the  actor  perfoms  his  special  work ;  it  enables 
him  to  make  the  given  moral  conditions,  viz.,  those  of  the 
person  he  is  representing,  i^erceptlble  to  the  senses.    He  can 
perform  this  task  in  two  ways,  with  and  without  the  aid  of 
the  consciousness.    In  the  former  case  he  can  observe  ac;cu- 
rately  and  keenly,  the  muscular  movements,  that  is,  the 
gestures,  mien,  fluctuations  in  the  voice,  etc.,  by  which 
persons  oi^anized  in  certain  ways,  the  tranquil,  the  nervous, 
the  well-bred,  the  vulgar,  etc.,  are  in  the  habit  of  visibly  and 
audibly  manifesting  certain  given  frames  of  mind,  such  as 
cheerfulness,  distrust,  reveries,  etc.,  and  then  endeavor  to 
imitiite  these  combinations  of  movements  by  sheer  will 
power.   Or  he  can  imagine  tlie  mental  state  he  wishes  to  i)or- 
tray,  and  assist  this  conception  by  a  few  of  tlie  movements 
by  which  it  is  usually  followed,  and  then  leave  to  these  the 
taak  of  arousing  the  conception  to  increased  vitality  by 
their  reflex  operation  upon  it,  until  it  proceeds  unconscious- 
ly and  automatically  to  impart  all  the  impulses  to  movement 


THE    ACTOR   IS    LIKE    A    CHILD   OR   A   SAVAGE.         173 

which  pertaiu  to  its  sphere,  the  \'ohintary  as  well  as  the 
involuntary  ones.     The  former  method  is  the  more  difficult 
and  it  is  always   extremely    iiucertaiu.     It  requires   the 
same  faculty  of  eluse  ol)servalion  and  analysis  of  appear- 
anc-es  that  we  have  seen  to  l)e  necessary  to  the  artist     The 
actor  iiiiititiiig  with  the  aid  of  the  consciousness,  must  have 
studied  the  frame  of  mind  he  wishes  to  represent;   not 
a  single  one  of  its  perceptiljle  forms  of  expression  must 
have*cscaped  him,  tuul  he  can  not  restrict  himself,  like  the 
painter,  to  the  optical  characteristics  of  the  phenomenon, 
but  must  also  take  the  phonetic  into  account.     If  he  can 
not  find  in  his  memory  the  type  he  wishes  to  imitate,  or  if 
he  has  not  studied  it  sufficiently  closely,  his  imitation  of  it 
will  ]>e  awkward  and  incomplete,  and  will  be  unable  to  im- 
press auy  one  as  true  to  nature.     The  second  method,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  easy  and  certain.     As  the  same  mental 
conditions  are  manifested  in  the  same  way  by  all  human 
beings,  with  very  slight  individual  variations,  and  as  the 
actor  is  also  a  human  l)eing,  as  one  might  say,  he  has  only 
to  let  it  quietly  take  its  own  course,  after  he  has  once 
evolved  the  mental  state  he  wishes  to  represent;  the  visi- 
ble manifestations  distinguishing  it,  all  of  them  without 
exception,  the  voluntary  as  well  as  the  involuntary  ones, 
even  tears,  the  expression  of  the  eyes,  etc.,  wilLmake  their 
appearance  in  turn  without  fail,  and  a  perfect  fidelity  to 
human  nature  will  be  attained.     The  only  thing  needed  to 
carry  tliis  method  into  execution  is  a  very  mobile  and  un- 
settled state  of  Ijalance  among  the  brain  centres.     The 
actor  must  not   have  any  fixed  dispositions,  a  ijowerful 
consciousness  or  an  original  personality.     The  cogitational 
activity  of  the  highest  centres  must  not  predominate  over 
their  emotional  activity,  and   neither  pre^-ent  nor  interfere 
with  their  automatic  work.     A  distinguished  actor  must  be 
like  a  gun  whose  trigger  works  with  exceptional  ease  and 


1;74      THM   P8YCMO-PHY810LOGY   OF  GENIUS   ANB  TALENT, 

raiiiditf.  As  the  slightest  touch  will  discharge  the  gun, 
so  the  slightest  external  impressiou  protiuces  in  the  actor 
that  mental  condition  he  wishes  to  depict,  which  then 
automatically  pi-oceeds  to  make  itself  dul}*  manifest.  This, 
It  is  evident,  can  only  \m  expected  of  a  brain  whose  highest 
centres  are  unoecupieci,  as  a  general  thing,  that  is,  have  no 
mental  labor  of  their  own  to  perform,  and  are  consequently 
alwa3's  ready  to  respond  to  an}'  sense-impressions  with  the 
eorresponding  dispositions  and  conceptions.  Where  is 
there  any  room  left  for  a  genius  here?  The  possession  of 
eogitational  talent  of  observation  and  of  a  conscious  repro- 
duction, onl}'  creates  a  second-rate  actor.  Those  very 
actors  who  are  the  most  distinguished,  the  truest  to  nature 
and  the  most  effective,  must  be  men  of  inferior  mental 
capacity,  with  a  vacant  consciousness  and  a  dwarfed  per- 
sonality, and  their  centres  must  be  eai)al)le  of  being  ex- 
cited to  automatic  activity  with  an  almost  morbid  facility. 
Is  it  not  characteristic  of  this  art  that  physical  beauty  and  a 
finely  modulated  voice,  which  are  among  the  lower  organic 
forms  of  perfection,  are  two  of  the  most  essential  requisites 
in  the  production  of  an  effective  delineator  of  mankind ! 
The  distinguished  actor  has  thus  very  properly  the  psycho- 
logicid  constitution  of  the  child  and  the  savage :  the  check- 
ing (inhibiting)  activity  of  the  centres  of  consciousness  has 
with  him  no  influence  upon  the  automatic  workings  of  the 
centos  of  nK,vement  it  is  the  task  of  cducatio;  in  our 
civilization  to  practice  and  strengthen  this  very  inhibiting 
activity;  we  are  trained  not  to  tdlow  our  emotions  lo 
manifest  themselves  in  movement  impulses,  in  cries,  facial 
cntortions  and  gest.„^,  and  w  re^L  this  ideal  in  fact  U, 
such  an  extent  as  to  entirely  suppross  the  automatic  work- 
ings  of  these  centres,  so  Lt  we  avoid  every  or  almost 
even*  perceptible  outward  manifestation  of  our  emotions, 
»»}  do  not  betray  by  any  external  mdication  what  is 


JUDGMENT    AND    WILL. 


175 


/ 


taking  place  in  our  consciousness.     The  actor  who  should 
attain  to  this  ideal  of  education,  would  no  longer  be  able 

to  practice  his  art. 

Thus  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  a  mistaken  use  of  the 
word  genius,  to  apply  it  to  an  instrumentalist,  in  music, 
:i   combiner    of   agreeable    colors,    in    painting,    and    an 
actor.     The  exceptional  development  of  such  low  centres 
as  the  centres  of  co-ordination  or  of  light-sensation,  or 
the  exceptionally   animated    reciprocal   action   of   move- 
ments  and  the   mental    conditions  that  usually  produce 
them,  do  not  give  any  more  claim  to  the  title  of  genius 
than  an   exceptionally  perfect   muscular  development  or 
:ui  exceptionally  far-seeing  eye.     Genius  is  founded  ex- 
clusively on  the  exceptional  perfection  of  the  highest  and 
therefore  purely  human  brain  centres,  whose  activity  we 
recognize  as  the  judgment  and  the  will.     The  judgment 
and  the  will,  these  arc  finally  the  faculties  whose  combined 
operation  raises  the  human  being  above  the  animal,  and 
whose  exceptional  development  raises  the  genius  aboAC  the 
average  man.    By  his  judgment  and  will  alone,  and  by  noth- 
ing else,  is  the  genius  a  genius.    What  is  the  judgment?  It 
is*an  activity  which  independently  evolves  new  ideas  out 
of  conceptions  imparted  to  it  by  impressions  on  the  senses 
or  V»y  some  preceding  activity  on  the  part  of  tlie  judgment. 
The  matter  manipulated  by  the  judgment  is  supplied  by  the 
memory,  which  derives  its  contents  from  the  impressions 
on  the  senses,  and  by  the  reason,  which  interprets  these  im- 
pressions on  the  senses.     The  laws,  according  to  which  the 
judgment   works,    form    collectively  what   we   call   logic. 
Thus   the   impressiou   on   the  senses   is  received  by  the 
centres  of  sensation,  it  is  interpreted  by  the  reason,  re- 
tained b>'  the  memor}^  and  finally  worked  over  by  the  judg. 
ment  in  accordance  with  settled  laws,  the  laws  of  logic, 
into  new  conceptions  which  no  longer  depend  on  any  direct 


17fi'      THE    PSYCHO-PllYSloHH.Y   f'F    (IKXITS   AND    TALENT. 

peiveptioii  by  tlu«  senses.     An  extremely  simple  illustrii- 
tioii  will  make  tliis  eletir  I'veii  tu  Uiose  readers  who  Iiiire 
never  lietird  of  siieli  :i  tiling  us  the  science  of  psycliolojry. 
Mj  senses,  feeling  and  siglit,  informed  me  once  when  <>ii! 
of  doors  that  water  was  falling  n|)on  me  and  that  the  sky 
was  black.     3Iy  reason  coraliined  these  two  impressions 
rilion  my  senses  and  interpreted  them  into  the  idea :  it  is 
raining  from  tlie  clouds.     My  memory  retained  tliesc  im- 
pressions and  the  interpretation  of  tliem.     If  1  now  see 
heavy  clonds  gathering  and  the  other  conditions  (lempeni- 
ture,  stiite  of  the  barometer,  direction  of  the  wind,  etc..) 
whicli  usually  accompany  rain,  occur  again,  my  judgment 
will  produce  from  the  conception  of  rainfalls  in  the  i)ast, 
supplied  liy  the  memory,  a  new  conception,— the  reason 
having  determined  the  conditions  of  rainfalls  on  the  basis 
of  tlie  logical  law  demonstrated  l)y  experience,  viz.,  th:tt 
the  same  causes  under  the  same  circumstances  will  pro- 
duce the  same  effects :  it  is  gciing  to  rain  immediately,  a 
conception  that  does  not  proceed  from  any  sense-imi>res- 
sion,  as  of  course  an  event  still  in  the  future  can  not  pi«^ 
dnce  any  impression  uiM>n  the  senses.    That  jutlgment  also 
proceeds  from  the  activity  of  some  one  oi-gan,  some  Inaiu 
centre,  and  can  not  l>e  a  phenomenon  occnmng  ontside  ol* 
matter,  as  is  assumed  by  Wnndt— so  great  and  profound  u 
thinker  in  other  respects— is  proved  by  the  feet  that  it  be- 
comes organic,  that  is,  automatic,  like  ever}-  other  form  <if 
activity  of  the  brain  and  spinal  coid  centi-es,  by  frequent 
repetition  in  tlie  individual  and  l>y  inheritance  in  the  race. 
To  retain  my  simple  illustration,  we  fmd  that  even  very 
low  classes  of  animals,  even  W(»rms.  arc  capable  of  forming 
a  judgment,  from  the  occniTeiiec  of  certain  phenomena,  for 
instance,  that  it  is  going  to  rain,  as  they  take  the  precau- 
tions nsnal  among  tliem  when  it  is  threatening  rain,  crawl- 
ing a.way.  boring  into  the  groiuid.  etc.     But  tlie  more 


„ 


THE   PYRAMID  OF   AN   AVKRAOK    MAN's    JUDGMENT.      177 

perfect  a  centre  of  judgment  the  easier  it  is  for  it  to  form 
new  conceptions  out  of  the  matter  supplied  to  it  by  the 
senses,  the  memory  and  the  reason,  and  the  more  remote 
will   these    concc^plion?;   be   in    time,    space    and    nature, 
from   the  sense-impressions  which   su[)pried  the  first  im- 
pulse  towards   their   formation.     What    distinguishes  it, 
therefore,  from  the  less  perfcc^t  centre  of  judgment  is  the 
fact  that  the  latter  does  not  v>^aii(ler  far  from  its  secure 
foundations— the  sense-impressions  and  the  memories— in 
the  formation  of  its  nev/  conceptions,  that  is,  judgments, 
while  the  former  evolves  a  judgment  out  of  the  sense- 
impressions  and  memories  with  a  marvellous  audacitj',  and 
tre:tts  this  fruit  of  its  own  labors  as  a  production  equal  in 
value  to  the  material  provided  by  the  senses,  memory  and 
reason,  and  deduces  other  judgments  from  it  by  the  laws 
of  h)gic;  and  this  deduction  of  judgments  from  eaeh  other, 
this  accumulation  of  new  conceptions  on  the  frequently 
very  limited  foundation  of  some  sense-impression,  it  carries 
on  fieely  and  easily  to  limits  that  seem  unattainable  to  the 
average  man.     We  can  illustrate  these  relations  between 
the  impression  on  the  sense  and  the  judgment  l)y  compar- 
ii!g  the  faculty  of  judgment  in  an  average  man  to  a  pyra- 
mid, whose  base  is  the  sense-impression,  while  the  judg- 
ment forms  the  pointed  apex ;  the  same  faculty  in  a  genius, 
liowever,  to  a  pyramid  in  a  reversed  position,  the  point  be- 
low representing  the  sense-impression,  which  spreads  out 
into  the  vast  square  of  judgment.     Thus  the  possession  of 
a  powerful  centre  of  judgment  enables  one  to  surmise  the 
most  complex  relations  between  things,  from  a  single  im- 
pression, a  glance,  a  sound  ;  to  foresee  the  future  from  the 
present,  and  often  the  ftu'-distant  future ;  to  discover  from  a 
phenomenon  the  laws  controlling  it ;  to  know  beforehand 
the  result  of  the  operation  of  ditlerent  phenomena  upon  eaeh 
other,  before  even  a  chance  for  observation  has  been  aflbrd- 


178      THE  pSYCllO-FHTSlO'LOaY  OF  OE^JHTS  ANB  TALENt. 

eel.    Such  a  centre  of  jii(lgiin-iit  proaiuc^  n  knowledge  of  hu- 
man nature,  to  use  the  popuUir  term,  a  iniistery  of  eireum- 
staoee^s,  the  most  eoniident  guidance  of  self  and  of  others, 
wis4lom,  sagacity  and  inventive  powei-s.     The  judgment  1 
have  heen  defining  thus   for  implies  the  acceptation  of 
causality  ;  by  tliis  I  mean  that  it  takes  it  for  granted  that 
eveiy  phenoinenon  has  some  cause,  that  tlie  same  causes 
onder  tlie  same  conditions  pitxluce  the  same  effects,  and 
that  the  extent  of  the  cause  is  in  exact  proiKJrtion  to  the 
extent  of  the  effect.     Nt»t  unless  this  is  assumed  doc«  the 
material  supplied  it  Iiy  the  memory  become  of  value  to  the 
iod«rment  which  then  can  fonn  new  conceptions  out  of  the 
pictures  held  up  to  view  l)y  the  memory,  and  draw  con- 
elusions  from  the  past  in  regard  to  the  future,  from  what 
is  near,  in  rt^gai-d  to  what  is  far  away,  and  from  what  can 
be  perceived  by  the  senses,  in  regaitl  to  wliat  lies  lieyond 
the  immediate  sphere  of  the  senses.     1  can  imagine,  how- 
ever, a  centre  of  judgment  so  powerful  tliat  it  would  not 
require  any  material  to  be  supplied  by  the  memory,  that  is. 
it  could  dispense  with  causality  altogether  and  would  be 
able  to  transform  the  sense-impression  at  once  into  new 
conceptions,  based  upon  the  recognition  of  a  new  individ- 
ual  law  in  every  new    phenomenon— conceptions   that 
would  not  be  mere  projections  of  pictures  of  the  memory 
into  the  future,  but  conditions  of  the  consciousness,  indi- 
vidual in  the  fullest  meaning  of  the  word,  and  repeating 
nothing  that  was  known  liefore.     However,  I  will  not  spin 
out  this  idea  any  further,  but  confine  myself  to  the  limits 
of  eontemiKiraneous  humanity. 

We  mentioned  that  next  to  the  judgment  the  will  is  the 
most  essential  element  of  genius.  What  is  the  will?  In 
my  reply  to  this  iiidical  question  I  have  the  audacity  to 
differ  not  only  from  Kant,  to  whose  surpassing  greatness 
I  how  in  humility,  but  also  from  Rilwt,  whose  keen  pene- 


DEPINTTTON    OF   THE   WILL. 


179 


V' 


.11, 


ti-ation  and  thoroughness  as  an  investigator  I  acknowledge 
with  pleasure.     Kant  explains  the  will  as  the  commander, 
the  law,  and  the  obeyor  all  in  one.     This  is  a  transcenden- 
tal definition  which  is  hardly  more  comprehensible  and 
lucid  than  the  theological  explanation  of  the  unity  of  the 
three  natures  in   Ood.     Ribot's   definition,  according  to 
which  the  will  is  the  reaction  of  the  Ego  upon  the  influ- 
ences of  the  external  world,  is  much  too  comprehensive 
and  includes  in  ftxct  the  entire  consciousness,  which,  as  far 
as  it  is  founded  upon  sense-impressions  and  depends  upon 
sense-impressions   for  its  very  being  and  significance,  (I 
will  pass  over  the  query  as  to  whether  we  need  accept 
ti  priori  conceptions),  is  likewise  nothing  but  a  reaction  of 
the  Ego  upon  external  influences.     But  a  definition  which 
leads  inevitably  to  the  assumption  that  the  consciousness 
and  the  will  are  identical,  can  not  be  correct.     Those  per- 
sons who  regard  the  universe  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
natural  sciences,  must  agree  with  my  assertion  :  the  will  is 
the  activity  of  a  certain  nerve-centre,  whose  sole  function  in 
the  organism  is  to  produce  contractions  in  the  muscles,  or, 
in  other  words,   to  impart  movement-impulses.      Philo- 
sophically this  definition  of  the  will  approaches  that  of 
Schopenhauer;  as  Schopenhauer  calls  what  produces  move- 
ment, the  will,  not  only  in  organic  but  in  inorganic  objects 
as  well,  and  as,  in  its  ultimate  analysis,  every  phenomenon 
is  a  movement  or  a  resistance  to  some  movement,  and  thus 
a  passive  movement,  we  might  define  the  will  as  the 
essence  of  all  phenomena  and  thus  of  the  universe.     I  do 
not  go  so  far  as  this.     Notwithstanding  the  theoretical 
similarity  or,  if  you  like,  even  identity  between  the  fall  of 
a  stone  and  the  step  of  a  man,  we  are  justified  in  distin- 
guishing between  these  two  forms  of  movement  in  practice, 
and  refusing  to  apply  the  same  term  to  what  produces  the 
fall  of  the  stone  and  what  produces  the  step  of  the  man. 


[■•• 


180      THE   PSYCHO-PHySIOLOGY  OF   flEXH'S  ANB  TALENT. 

We  will  tliiis  call  the  cause  of  movement-impulses,  will,  in 
the  organism  alone,  and  consider  the  will  as  an  attendant 
phenomenon  of  life  alone.     That  it  is  possible  to  produce 
mttscular  contraction  not  merely  by  the  will  but  by  other 
agents,  for  example,  a  galvanic  battery,  is  not  an  argument 
against  the  correctness  of  my  definition,  as,  in  the  first 
place,  it  does  not  exclude  the  possibility  that  the  same 
phenomenon  may  be  produced  by  various  causes,  and,  in 
the  second  placed  it  does  not  prove  that  the  will  itself  is 
not  a  kind  of  electric  phenomenon,  as  we  speak  of  the 
**  nerve-current,"  the  *' nerve-ijower  "  and  the  " nerve-fluid "' — 
terms  that  owe  their  origin  to  the  idea  that  tlie  will-centre 
is  a  kind  of  electric  battery,  and  the  movement-impulse 
transmitted  to  the  muscles,  a  kind  of  electric  current.     It 
may  perhaps  lie  urged  in  objection  that  the  will  can  also 
produce  phenomena  which  can  not  strictly  be  called  muscu- 
lar movements ;  for  instance,  it  is  undeniable  that  we  make 
an  effort  of  the  will  to  recall  a  thing  to  our  memor}^ ;  but 
memory  is  not  a  muscular  activity.     To  this  I  reply  that 
in  fact  the  memory  oteys  the  will  very  imperfectly,  and  that 
it  is  my  opinion  that  the  will  only  acts  very  indirectly  upon 
tlie  centre  of  memory,  in  such  a  manner  that  it  causes  con- 
traction and  expansion,  that  is,  movements  of  the  muscles 
In  the  vessels  that  carry  blood  to  the  centre  of  memory. 
The  organ  is  excited  to  increased  activity  by  this  rush  of 
blood,  and  it  then  may  at  times  supply  to  the  conscious- 
ness the  wished-for  image,  which  could  not  l)e  obtained 
from  it  as  long  as  it  contained  less  blood  and  was  working 
less  vigorously.     So  I  shall  continue  to  maintain  that  not 
a  single  psychological  fact  contradicts  my  assertion  that 
the  will  is  the  activity  of  an  organ  which  imparts  move- 
ment-impulses.   The  next  questions  to  be  answered  are, 
how  the  simple  movementimpulses  imparted  by  the  will 
can  produce  movements  adapted  to  the  end  in  view,  and 


MECHANISM    OF    TllK    WILL. 


181 


I 

J 


how  the  will  itself  can  be  aroused  to  its  specific  form  of 
activity.     We  can  find  the  reply  to  these  questions  if  we  will 
l)oiir  in  mind  that  lite  is  in  every  respect  ti  very  complex  phe- 
nr)menon,  and  especially,  that  all  the  higher  foi-nis  of  vital 
activity  are  the  result  of  the  interlocking  combined  action  of 
different  organs.    The  will  merely  impels  the  muscles  to  con- 
tract ;  nothing  else.    The  centres  of  co-ordination,  however, 
receive  this  impulse  and  transmit  it  to  those  muscles  that 
are  to  be  contracted,  to  produce  the  intended,  appropriate 
movements,  and  not  merely  to  produce  them  in  the  <lesired 
form,  but  of  the  desired  strength  as  well.    Thus  the  centres 
of  coordination  perform  the  same  part  in  regard  to  the  will, 
as  is  performed  in  an  electric  apparatus  by  the  relais,  de- 
rived currents  and  n^sistanee  coils  in  regard  to  the  battery. 
But  who  has  taught  these  centres  of  co-ordination  to  know 
the  muscles  that  tu'C  to  be  contracted  to  produce  a  certain 
movement  in  the  intended  way  and  of  the  intended  strength? 
The  experience  of  the  individual  and  of  the  entire  race 
since  its  first  l)eginnings,  an  experience  that  is  organic  and 
produces  its  eflects  automatically.     And  how  is  the  will 
aroused  to  it 4  specific  form  of  activit3-?     By  the  operation 
of  all  the  (»ther  centres,  by  induction,  I  might  say,  borrow- 
ing an  expressive  term  from  the  science  of  electricit}'.     A 
mere  impression  on  one  of  the  senses  will  induce-  the  will 
to  issue  a  movement-impulse,  without  any  intervention  on 
the  part  of  the  consciousness  ;  a  reflex  movt^ment  ensues, 
which  is  quite  erroneously  called   "involuntary."'     It  is 
not  involuntary,  that  is,  not  ordered  by  the  will ;  it  is  only 
unconscious.    The  automatic  activity  of  the  higher  centres, 
that  is,  the  emotions,  likewise  excite  the  will.     This  cause 
of  an  action  on  the  part  of  the  will  reaches  the  consciousness 
with  that  indistinctness  described  above  as  peculiar  to  the 
emotions.     And  lastly,  the  new  and  original  activity  of  the 
consciousness,  which  has  not  yet  become  organic,  that  is. 


182    THE  psYCHo-pnysioLociY  of  oenius  and  talent. 

judgiiient,  cogitation,  eiui  also  set  the  will  to  work.     The 
judgment  alone,  cioea  not  "will';    it  only  conceives  the 
idea  of  some  simple  or  complex  movements,  or  of  a  long 
succession  of  movements,  following   upon  one  another, 
which  seem  t>  it  appropriate  under  given  circumstances; 
if  tlie  organism  is  sound,  normally  developed  and  well- 
lialanced,  then  this  idea  is  sufficient  to  induce  the  will  to 
issue  a  movement-impulse.     That  the  movement  is  com- 
pleted is  then  coinmnnicated  to  the  consciousness  by  the 
impressions  received  through  the  muscle-sense.     The  pi-o- 
cess  thus  is  like  this :  the  ju<lgment  conceives  the  idea  of 
movements,  the  will  imparts  the  impulses  necessary  to  them, 
the  centres  of  co-ortlination  distrilnite  the  impulses  as  the 
movement  requires,  and  the  muscle-sense  returns  the  intel- 
ligence of  the  completetl  movement  to  the  brain.     The 
consciousness  is  only  cognizant  of    the  beginning  and 
end  of  this  process— the  idea  of  the  movements,  which  the 
judgment  conceived,  and  the  knowleilge  that  the  move- 
ments are  completed.     All  that  lies  between  is  lost  to  the 
consciousness.     It  knows  notliing  of  the  way  in  which  the 
Idea  of  the  movement  became  the  movement.     But  inaccu- 
rate oliservatlon  has  obscured  this  simple  and  clear  succes- 
sion  of  organic  acts.     Btxiuise  we  become  conscious  of  the 
Ideas  of  movements  and  of  the  movements,  the  will  itself 
has  iieen  transferred  into  the  consciousness.     And  yet  ex- 
perience teaches  us  that  even  the  most  Intensely  vivid  idea 
of  a  movement  is  not  necessarily  followed  by  a  movement, 
and  tliat  thus  the  judgment  is  as  yet  far  from  being  the 
will.     In  a  certain  disease  called  neurasthenia  or  neiTOUs 
pro»t»tion,  the  will-centre  is  beyond  the  control  of  the 
judgment    In  such  instances  we  may  very  well  imagine 
movements,  but  we  are  unable  to  carry  them  into  execu- 
tion.   We  may  fully  realize  the  expediency  of  picking  up 
a  book,  or  crossing  the  street,  but  we  can  not  induce  the 


WEAKNESS  OP  WILL. 


183 


aims  or  limbs  to  undertake  the  motions  necessary  to  these 
acts ;  though  we  are  then  not  paralyzed  as  might  be  sup- 
posed, but  perfectly  able  to  execute  the  orders  of  others. 
One  thus  afflicted  may  say  very  properly :  "  I  will  to  do  it, 
but  I  cannot."     This  is  incorrect,  however.     The  truth  is 
that  he  thinks,  but  does  not  will.    The  judgment-centre  does 
its  work,  but  the  will-centre  does  not.     We  often  speak  of 
persons  as  having  feeble  wills.     This  is,  as  a  rule,  incor- 
rect.    What  is  lacking  in  most  of  these  cases  is  a  well- 
developed  judgment-centre.     In  these  cases  the  judgment- 
centre  is  incapable  of  producing  definite  ideas  of  movement. 
And  for  this  reason  the  will  also  fails  to  act  properly. 
But  when  some  foreign  judgment  communicates  definite 
ideas  of  movement  to  them,  that  is,  advises  or  commands 
them,  they  carry  out  these  movements  effectively,  with 
certainty,  and  irresistibly,  a  proof  that  th(;ir  will-centre 
is  strong  enough  after  all.     The  same  is  true  of  those 
cases  in  which  we  speak  of  a  conflict  in  the  will,  or  of 
some  act  of  passion  beyond  the  control  of  the  will.    The 
conflict  is  not  in  the  will,  but  in  the  judgment     There  are 
not  "two  contending  wills"  but  two  ideas,  neither  of  which 
is  clear  and  distinct  enough  to  incite  the  will  to  issue  an 
impulse.    As  soon  as  one  idea  becomes  distinct  it  triumphs 
over  the  other,  and  sets  the  will  in  motion.     Hamlet  was 
not  weak  in  will,  but  weak  in  judgment     His  judgment- 
centre  does  not  evince  sufficient  power  to  evolve  a  definite 
idea  of  expedient  movements.     Were  this  in  his  power,  his 
will  would  carry  the  movements  into  execution,  provided 
that  the  will-centre  is  sound— a  matter  in  regard  to  which 
Shakespeare  has  left  us  without  a  clew.     And  when  in  a 
passion,  one  does  or  omits  to  do  something  that  the  reason 
apparently  forbids  or  commands,  it  is  not  because  his 
"will  is  poweriess  to  prevent  it, "  as  the  novelists  say,  but 
because  the  automatic,  emotioiud  activity  of  his  highest 


184      THE   PSYrilO-PTlYSK tLOGY  OF  OENIITS  AND   TALENT. 

centres  litis  been  storoiiger  than  tlieir  free,  cogitational 
iictivitj ;  the  conscious  ideas  formed  bj  the  judgnieiit  liave 
not  prevailed  over  tlie  partially  or  entirely  unconscious 
oi-ganic  workings  of  the  bimin-centres ;  the  will  has  received 
the  stronger  impulse  from  their  automatism,  and  carried 
the  ideiis  of  movement  into  execution  wliich  were  automat- 
ically evolved,  and  not  tliose  evolved  by  the  consciousness. 
The  will  has  thus  been  i)owerfiil  enough ;  the  judgment 
alone  has  been  "powerless"  to  check  the  automatic  work- 
ings of  the  higliist  centres,  and  to  impress  upon  the  will 
the  resnlts  of  its  own  ftt»e  and  conscious  activity. 

We  shall  not  conntenanee  this  substitution  of  the  will 
for  the  jiidgracnt,  and  in  cases  of  indecision  or  deeds  of 
passion  contrary  to  reason,  or  of  mere  habit,  we  must  refer 
to  them  as  showing  a  weak  judgment  and  not  a  weak  will. 
We  ought  not  to  surmise  the  existence  of  a  weak  will  ex- 
cept  in  those  cases  in  which  a  normally  developed  human 
being,  (and  this  excludes  the  cases  where  the  connection 
between  the  centres  of  judgment  and  of  will  is  disturbed, 
so  tliat  each  works  powerfully  enough,  but  is  unable  to 
exert  its  proper  amount  of  influence  on  the  other),  does  not 
carry  into  execution  the  perfectly  clear  and  decided  ideas 
of  movements  evolved  by  the  judgment,  or  else  executes 
them  hesitatingly  and  imperfectly,  and  where  the  impulses 
of  passion  remain  mere  sentiments,  wishes  and  longings 
without  becoming  acts.  Tiie  only  means  of  estimating  the 
strength  of  the  will  is  its  ability  to  overcome  resistance. 
It  is  not  the  muscles  that  triumph  over  obstacles,  but  the 
will,  the  extent  of  the  impulse  it  imparts  to  the  muscles. 
lusune  persons,  whose  will-centre  is  morbidly  excited,  and 
thus  imparts  extraoitlinarily  powerful  impulses  to  the 
muscles,  at  times  i^erform  teats  that  would  have  been  con- 
sidered impossible.  Delicate  women  and  aged  persons  will 
break  iron  rods,  wrench  the  links  of  chains  apart,  and 


THE    IMPULSES   OP   THE    INSANE. 


185 


wrestle  with   several   strong   iiUendants  iil  onct*  wiLliout 
being  subdued.     If  the  same  persons  were  able  to  perform 
the  same  deeds  in  a  normal  state  of  health,  the}-  would  be 
reckoned  among  the  strongest  individuals  of  the  age.     But 
tlie\'  are  unable  to  do  this,  although  their  nuiseuhir  system 
is  tlie  same  as  at  the  time  of  their  insanity.     We  see  from 
this   fact    alone    that    great   manifestations   of    pliysical 
strength  do  not  depend  by  an}'  means  as  much  upon  the 
niuseles  as  upon  tlie  potency  of  the  impulse  imparted  to 
tlieni  ]»v  the  will-centre.     The  lirst  resistance  to  be  over- 
eonie  by  the  will  is  the  conducting  resistance  ottered  by 
the  tissues,  tlie  nerves  and  the  muscles.     The  shorter  tlie 
len'»-th  of  nerve-coinuiuuication  involved,  the  smaller  and 
more  delicate  tlie  group  of  muscles  to  be  set  in  motion,  the 
less  this  resistance  and  tlie  feeliler  the  impulse  required  of 
the   will   to  produce  tlie  movement.     The    -nost   delicate 
transverse   muscles   that  we  possess  are,   in  their  order, 
those  of  the  throat,  the  eye,  the  mouth,  the  face  and  the 
hand.     Even  a  very  weak  will  is  sutlicieut  to  set  these 
HHiscles  in  motion,  and  enable  one  to  talk,  make  grimaces, 
look  sad  or  happy,  and  gesticulate.     This  is  also  the  limit 
of  the  actions  to  which  ordinary  men  usually  restrict  them- 
selves.    It  is  somewhat  more  difficult  to  contract  the  coarse 
muscles  of  the  arm,  and  still  more  difficult  to  contract 
those  of   the  limbs  and  of  the  trunk.     These  re(iuire  a 
stronger  impulsion,  and  thus,  a  more  vigorous  effort  of  the 
will-centre.     Men  with  really  weak  wills  thus  hardly  ever 
get  so  far  as  to  follow  up  their  talking  and  gesticulating 
with  au  undertaking  that  would  require  them  t(j  walk  or 
to  work  with  their  arms.     And  lastly,  what  is  most  difficult 
of  all  is  to  perform  those  movements  which  have  for  their 
purpose  the  overcoming  of  external  resistance,  either  of 
inanimate  olgects  or  of  li\'ing  beings.     In  this  case  the 
will  has  not  only  to  conquer  the  inward  conducting  resistr 


TIIIJ  PSYCHOPHTSIOLCXIY  OF   GENU'S   AMD   TALl'NT. 

aiioe,  wlikli  our  ooiiscioiisiiess  i^rceives  m  indolence  or 
ilisiiieliEaiion  to  move,  Ijut  the  forees  of  nature  as  well, 
(gravitation,  tor  instanee),  or  the  iinpiikcH  of  another's 
will ;  it  has  tlierefore  to  he  able    to  impart  vigorous  ini- 
pulses,  more  vigorous  at  least  than  those  iinpai'ted  b}'  the 
will  opiiosed  to  it,  if  the  resistanee  Ui  lie  oveiwme  pro- 
eeeds  from  a  human   being.     If  the  will  is  not  strong 
enough  to  tlo  this,  the  Ideas  of  movement  eoneeived  by 
the  judgment  will  not  lie  carried  into  execution,  no  uiattor 
how  clear  and  definite  they  may  lie.     We  will  then  know 
exactly  what  we  ought  to  do ;  we  will  wish  most  earnestly 
to  do  it,  and  yet  we  will  not  do  it     What  we  call  lack  of 
pereeverance  and  cowardice  is  nothing  but  an  evidence  of 
weakness  of  will.     We  do  not  persist  hi  an  undeiUikiug  or 
shrink  from  even  entering  upon  it,  if  we  have  either  over- 
estimated its  difficulties  from  ignorance,  or  else,  if  we  are 
acquainted  with  it,  and  do  not  feel  that  we  are  equal  to  it. 
In  both  eases,  the  judgment  fails  to  clearly  define  the 
ideas  of  movement  suggested  to  it  by  the  cii-cumsUnees, 
owing  to  the  fact  that  the  memory  recalls  other  cases  in 
which  the  will  proved  itself  too  weak  to  overcome  similar 
difficulties.     Indifferenee  and  cowardice  are  thus  shown  to 
proceed  from  the  knowledge  of  the  weakness  of  one's  will 
The  i>owerful  development  of  tiic  centres  of  judgment 
and  of  will  forms  thus  the  organic  foundation  of  the  phe- 
nomenon which  we  call  genius.     A  one-sided  development 
of  the  will-centre  is  not  sufficient  to  produce  a  genius. 
Giants  in  will-power  may  be  able  to  overcome  all  the 
obstacles  that  interi^se  to  prevent  the  execution  of  their 
ideas  of  movement,  whether  they  api)ear  in  the  form  <.f 
objects  or  of  men,  of  laws  or  of  customs ;  but  they  will  not 
be  able  to  work  out  indeijendently  any  importiuit  and 
aiipropriate  ideas  of  movement.     Hercules  performs  his 
iv-,:-  :•  \v^^'- ^  but  it  is  at  Eu,r}-stheus'  bidding.     A  man 


ONE-SIDED   DEVEL0P3IENT   OF    WILL. 


187 


endowed   with   will   alone   becomes,   at  tli-*   very   best,  a 
general  under  Alexander  the  (Ircat,  a  Seleueus,  a  Ptole- 
mmis  or  one  of  Napoleon's  marshals;    he  liecomes  the 
famous  minister  of  some  monarch  with  genius,  or,  as  hap- 
pens far  more  fre(iuently,  the  immortal  sovereign  of  some 
minister  with  genius  ;  sucli  a  man,  at  the  worst,  becomes  a 
sensualist,    with   whose   orgies   the   country   and   history 
resound,  or  a  criminal  who  inspires  all  his  contemporaries 
with  horror— a  Ciesar  Borgia,  or  a  Schinderhannes.     In 
the  former  case,  he  executes  the  ideas  of  movement  con- 
ceived by  the  centre  of  judgment  of  some  genius;  in  the 
latter,  the  partially  or  entirely  unconscious  designs  evolved 
by   his   own    centres.     A   one-sided   development  of  the 
centre  of  judgment,  on  the  other  hand,  will  produce  in 
itself,  a  genius,  only  the  character  of  this  genius  will  vary 
according  as  the  will-centre  is  more  or  less  developed  in 
coiuiection  with  the  judgment-centre.     A  genius  in  judg- 
ment, without  any  especial  will-power,  produces  a  great 
thinker,  a  philosopher,  a  mathematician,  perhaps  even  a 
scientific  "in  v(;sti gator.     In  these  occupations  there  are  none 
but  tiie  slightest  dynamic  obstacles  to  be  overcome,  none 
but  the  feeblest  contracting   impulses  to  Impart  to  the 
muscles;    the  judgment  is  not  required  to  evolve  coarse 
ideas  of  movement,  but  reveals  its  extent  and  power  in 
another  way,  by  deducing  endless,  novel,  abstract  ideas  out 
of  the  sense-impressions— from  a  simple  contemplation  of 
certain  numbers,  the  Pythagorean  principle,  the  theory  of 
numbers,  integral  and  differential  calculus ;  from  the  fall 
of  an  apple,  the  laws  of  gravitation;  from  the  perceptions 
of  the  consciousness,  a  system  of  philosophy ;   from  the 
established   facts  of  the   doctrine   of    development    and 
paleontology,  the  theory  of  evolution  of  Dai*win.     I  can 
not  agree  with  Bain  in  his  classification  of  genius,  when  he 
yanks  the  philosophical  genius  above  all  the  rest.     My 


188      THE    FSYrilf»-I'llYSl<n.<HlT  <"»F    fiKMI'S   A  Nil  TALENT. 

tlieoiT  coiiiiH^s  iiie  to  pUu-e  tlic  mere  tiiiiiker  mid  invcsti- 
jjalor  below  uli  the  rest  in  my  chissifieMtion,  for  their  pix- 
eiiiiiieiKi'  i.  luised  iilKiii  their  jiiagiiieiit  iiloiie,  lint  tlii»,  in 
itself,  without  the  eo-openition  of  the  will,  is  not  iible  to 
realize  tlie  ideas  it  i^voWm,  no  mutter  liow  wonderful  they 
mt»\-  be,  in  i>!ienomenii  aijparent  to  the  senses.     Even  to 
express  or  write  them  out,  Ji  certiiiu  uetivity  on  the  part  of 
some  muscles,  thus,  an  imi.ulse  of  the  will,  is  required.     If 
tlie  will  of  some  genius  in  judgment  should  happen  to  hick 
even  the  power  of  eausing  the  muscular  activity  of  writing 
or  speaking,  his  siiblimest  conceptions  would  be  nothing 
but  purelv  sulyective  conditions  of  his  eonscionsucss,  of 
which  no  *one  Init  himself  would  ever  have  the  slightest 
suspicitm.     Thcv  would  be  molecular  processes  occurring 
hi  his  br:iin.  and  would  only  lie  perceptible  to  others  to  the 
degree   in   which   tlun'   might   l»e   lelt  liy  unoUier   brain 
thniu'di  spac-e,  and  tlius  tind  expression  jit  last,  if  any  one 
eoidd'ciHiceive  of  sueli  a  kind  of  perception,  which  would 
be  a  miud-reading  of  the  highest  order. 

When  a  will-centre  of  good,  average  formation  appears 
hi  comliination  with  a  judgment-centre  of  superb  develoi>- 
inent,  the  world  obtiiins  the  great  min«ls  engaged  in  iiirther- 
iiig  the  cause  of  experimental  science  and  in  inventing. 
The  nature  of  the  endowments  and  activity  of  these  twc» 
classes  is  praetieally  iilciilical.     The  exiK^rimentalist  as 
well  as  the  inventor  deduces  laws  from  their  observation 
of  phenomena,  and  imagines  the  material  conditions  which 
would  enable  him  to  make  these  laws  he  has  discoveml 
oiMjratc  according  to  his  own  arbitrary  will.    The  difler- 
cnce  lietween  them  is  not  a  theoretical,  only  a  practical 
one    The  former  is  content  to  combine  such  circumstances 
and  conditions     as    will  show  him  whether  the  processes 
apparent  to  liis  senses  coincide  with  the  ideas  evolved  m 
his  judgment :    wlietlier  t\  law  discovered  by  his  brain- 


WIIO   WOULD    NOT    HAVE    INVENTED    Or'N-rOAVDER. 


18f> 


centres  really  does  operate  in  the  material  world  ;  the  lat- 
ter, on  the  other  hand,  tries  to  create  such  combinations  of 
conditions  as  have  for  their  sole  purpose  the  promotion  of 
the  comfort  of  mankind,  using  the  word  in  its  most  com- 
prehensive sense.     But  we  must  be  careful  to  avoid  an 
error  here.    A  disco^'ery.  an  invention  need  not  be  necessa- 
rily the  production  of  a  judgment-genius  combined  with 
a  sufficient  amount  of  will-power.     Chance  may  have  had 
something  to  do  with  it.     The  monk,  Schwarz,  was  not 
looking  for  gun-powder  when  his  mixture  of  sulphur,  salt- 
peter and  charcoal  exploded  in  his  mortar,  and  Professor 
Galvani  had  not  the  least  idea  of  discovering  a  hitherto 
unknown  force  in  nature,  when  he  hung  the  leg  he  had  just 
cut  from  his  frog  on  a  copper  hook.     But  on  the  whole,  I 
am  not  inclined  to  concede  to  chance  more  than  a  very 
limited  share  in  the  great  discoveries  and  inventions.    An 
extraordinary  power  of  judgment  is  after  all  required  to 
observe  an  unaimiliar  phenomenon  with  accuracy,  to  recog- 
nize at  once  that  it  can  not  be  explained  satisfactorily  by 
any  facts  known  at  the  time,  to  discover  its  causes  and  con- 
ditiijus  and  deduce  new  ideas  from  it.    Chance  thus  is  only 
then  the  starting  point  of  a  discovery  or  invention,  when  it 
has  some  great  cogitational  mind  for  its  witness.     The  emo- 
tional average  man  with  his  automatically  working  brain, 
is  deaf  and  blind  to  all  phenomena  which  are  not  covered 
by  his  inherited  and  organic  ideas.     If  the  mortar  had  ex- 
ploded before  the  eyes  of  some  average  man  instead  of 
Schwarz,  he  would  have  crossed  himself  and  believed  in  a 
diabolical  apparition,  and  at  the  utmost,  have  learned  from 
his  observation  that  he  must  beware  of  meddling  with 
sulphur  again.     He  w^ould  never  have  invented  gunpowder. 
Accidents  pregnant  with  significance  and  results  are  con- 
stantly occurring  before  the  eyes  of  men,  and  have  been 
always  thus  occurring.     But  some  extraordinarily  power- 


190      THE    PSYCHI>PliYSK>LOOY  OF    OENIl'S  AND   TALENT. 

ftil  jiulgiiieiit  lias  firat  to  witness  tkem  before  they  eiiu  be 
comprdKiided,  and  their  laws  and  inferences  discovered. 
The  entire  substtince  of  all  phenomena,  the  foundation  of 
nil  liiologieal,  chemical  and  physical  science,  and  of  all  the 
inventions  in  the  domains  of  steam,  electricity  and  me- 
chsmies,  has  existed  nnchiinged  for  all  eternity,  and  it  was 
all  there  for  the  human  beings  of  the  Age  of  Stone  just  as 
much  as  for  us,  today.     But  before  it  could  be  understood 
:uid  mastered  the  judgment  had  to  be  developed  to  an  ex- 
tent fur  Iwyond  that  attained  by  primitive  man  and  even  by 
ihc  uncieiits.     There  is  no  doubt,  either,  but  that  at  the 
present  day  we  are  suiTOunded  by  phenomena  of  the  most 
womli-rfiil  kinds  in  just  the  same  way,  which  we  pass  unno- 
ticed, which  we  fail  to  interpret  and  whose  laws  we  do  not 
altiiiiiit  to  discover,  simply  because  there  is  no  one  living 
at  the  present  time  with  a  faculty  of  judgment  sufficiently 
powerful  to  enable  him  to  evolve  any  conception  as  to 
their  causes  and  possible  effects  from  what  is  apparent  to 
the  senses  in  them.     But  it  is  extre-mely  probable  that 
there  will  be  men  of  genius  some  day  to  whom  this  will 
lie  possible,  and  even  easy,  and  our  descendants  on  the  face 
of  the  earth  will  not  be  able  to  comprehend  how  we  could 
have  passed  by  these  most  striking  phenomena,  deaf  and 
blind  to  them,  just  as  we  can  not  understimd  why  men  had 
not  discovered  thousands  of  years  ago  our  modem  explo- 
sives, steam  engines  and  applications  of  electricity.     If  we 
now  dismiss  the  co-oi^eration  of  chance,  which  as  1  have  en- 
deavored to  prove,  has  contributed  but  very  little  to  the 
success  of  great  discoveries  and  inventions,  the  fact  re- 
mains that  attempts  to  '*ask  nature  reasonable  questions," 
as  Bacon  expresses  it,  which  are  framed  with  conscious 
purpose  and  intention,  and  to  which  we  expect  an  answer 
already  more  tban  half  divined— that  is,  the  systematic 
labors  of  a  IU*ert  Meyer,  a  Helmholtz,  a  Koch-presup- 


THE    OENIUS   IS   NOT    SENT131ENTAL, 


191 


pose  a  genius  in  judgment,  and  a  well  organized  will-centre. 
The  co-operatiou  of  tlie  will-centre  is  necessary  because  it 
is  a  very  important  matter  in  experimenting  and  inventing 
tornnterializcthe  ideas  conceived  by  the  judgment-centre, 
which  materialization,  however,  can  only  be  realized  by 
muscular  activity,  which  agtun  is  only  to  be  produced  by 
im[)ulses  imparted  by  the  will. 

When  finally  the  will-centre  is  developed  to  the  same 
extraordinary  degree  as  the  j  udgmentrcentre,  when  a  man 
appears,  a  genius  in  both  judgment  and  will,  we  salute  one 
of  those  phenomenal  beings  who  change  the  course  of  the 
history  of  the  world.  Such  a  genius  does  not  find  expression 
in  thoughts  and  words,  but  in  deeds.  His  judgment  pro- 
duces new  and  individual  ideas,  and  his  will  is  energetic 
and  powerful  enough  to  convert  them  intc*  actions  in  spite 
of  all  obstacles.  He  scorns  the  more  convenient  wa^s  of 
making  his  ideas  apparent  to  the  senses,  viz..  by  sounds 
and  signs,  and  attempts  those  in  which  there  is  the  great- 
est amount  of  resistance  to  be  overcome.  He  thus  does 
not  talk  or  write,  but  he  acts,  that  is,  he  disposes  of  men 
and  of  the  forces  of  nature  as  his  ideas  suggest.  This 
kind  of  a  genius  becomes  whatever  he  wills,  and  does 
whatever  he  wills.  He  discovers  continents.  He  con- 
quers countries.  He  rules  nations.  His  career  is  that 
of  an  Alexander,  a  Mahomet,  a  Cromwell,  a  Napoleon. 
There  is  no  limit  to  his  sway  as  far  as  humanity  is 
concerned,  unless  there  happens  to  l)e  some  genius  with 
equal  or  superior  powers  of  judgment  and  will  among 
his  contemporaries.  He  can  only  l)e  defeated  by  some 
force  of  nature  stwnger  than  the  foice  of  his  will.  A 
hurricane  might  have  annihilated  GoUnnbus;  sickness 
cut  off  x\lexander  in  his  prime;  a  Russian  winter  brought 
disaster  upon  Napoleon.  The  judgment-centre  can  van- 
quish even  nature  itself  in  its  conceptions.    The  will-centre 


W2    THE  rsYriio-piivsioLOfjT  of  cienius  and  talent. 

is  only  able  if)  overiM'jwer  Uiiisc  forces  that  iirc  weaker  than 

its  own  energy. 

The  organiz:ili(»ii  of  sncli  a  genius  of  jiulginent  and 
will  entails  iipon  him  a  partial  and  in  extreme  eases  an 
entire  lack  of  all  that  we  call  sentiment  and  ai)i)reeiation 
of  art  and  the  eraving  ftjr  beanty  and  lo\'e.     Ilia  powerful 
centres   transform  all   impressions   into  clear  ideas,  and 
evolve  perfectly  eooscions  judgments  out  of  them.     There 
is  no  automatic  activity,  witli  the  possiljlc  exception  of  the 
lower  centres  of  ci>-ordination  and  nutrition;  the  higher 
centres  work  in  an  original  way,  and  not  according  to  the 
inherited  pattiirns.     There  is  an  almost  entire  absence  of 
dim,  partially  or  entirely  unconscious  emotions.    The  genius 
is  not  sentimental  in  the  slightest  tlegrec.     He  tliercfm-e 
produces  the  impression  of  severity  and  coldness.     These 
tciins,  however,  do  not  express  anything  excciit  that  he  is 
fiurely  cogitational  and  not  emotional.     It  is  also  an  itlio- 
syncrasy  of  this  kind  of  an  organization  that  the  genius  is 
\ery  inaccessible   to  the  !inishc<l   ideas  of  othere.     His 
centres  are  arranged  to  work  in  an  original  wa> ,  and  not  in 
imitation  of  any  precedent     They  must  have  tlie   raw 
material  of  sense-perceptions  to  transfoi-m  it  into  new  ideas 
accowiing  to  their  own  peculiar  proc!ess.     They  can  not 
endure  the  productions  of  previous  digestion  on  the  part 
of  the  judgment  of  othei-s,  that  is,  raw  material  of  sense- 
perception  already  converted   into   ideas  in  some  otlier 
brain-centres,  thus  just   these  intellectual   peptone,  as  it 
were,  which  form  the  onl\'  food  the  average  man  is  able  to 
assimilate. 

At  this  point  of  my  coesiderations,  a  menacing  ques- 
tion arises.  If  genius  is  the  exceptional  perfection  of  the 
judgment  and  the  will,  if  its  activity  consists  in  the  crea- 
tion of  new,  alistract  conceptions,  and  in  their  concrete 
realization,  what  Is  to  be  done  with  tlie  emotional  genius, 


T 


,. 


POETS    AXr>   ARTISTS    NOT   PROPEBLY   GENIUSES.       193 

the  poet  and  the  artist?  Have  I  any  right  to  concede  that 
the  poet  or  the  artist  can  be  a  genius?  No,  this  right  is 
in  fact  extremely  dubious,  to  say  the  least.  Let  us  recall 
what  it  is  that  really  constitutes  emotion.  The  sense- 
impressions  are  transmitted  to  the  proper  sense-centres; 
these  sense-centres  incite  other  sense-centres  to  activity,  viz, 
those  that  are  accustomed  to  receive  impressions  conjointly 
with  the  otiiers ;  they  arouse  the  centres  of  will  and  of  co- 
ordination and  produce  some  action  on  the  part  of  the  organ- 
ism— if  no  more  than  some  expression  in  the  eyes,  some 
change  in  the  rhythm  of  the  heart's  palpitations,  or  some 
cr\',  in  repl}^ ;  all  this  automatically,  according  to  inherited 
lial)its  that  have  become  organic,  without  the  intervention 
of  the  judgment,  which  has  only  an  obscure,  partial  knowl- 
edge, an  undefined  suspicion  of  the  processes  that  are  occur- 
ring in  the  lower  centres.  These  processes,  talcing  place  out- 
side of  the  consciousness  are  just  the  emotions.  The  sole 
task  of  poetr}',  music,  and  the  plastic  arts  is  to  produce  emo- 
tions. The}'  all  try  to  start  those  processes  in  our  organism, 
by  the  means  at  their  command,  which  are  caused  in  a  nat- 
ural wa}'  by  a  certain  series  of  sense-impressions,  which  we 
perceive  as  emotions.  The  lyric  poet  with  words,  the  mu- 
sician with  tones,  and  the  painter  with  colors,  endeavor  to 
induce  our  brain-centres  to  enter  upon  that  form  of  activity 
which  they  usually  perform  when  incited  thereto  by  the 
senses  conveying  to  them  the  impressions  which  may  l)e 
produced  by  a  beautiful  and  love-inspiring  being  of  the 
opix>site  sex,  of  an  enemy,  a  destructive  element,  a  suffer- 
ing fellow-being,  or  a  certain  season.  The  more  accurately' 
they  apprehend  and  reproduce  the  special  characteristics 
of  events,  representable  by  their  art,  viz.,  the  intellectual, 
expressed  in  words,  the  optical,  and  tiie  acoustic,  the  more 
closely  will  the  emotions  excited  by  them  resemble  the 
emotions  which  the  events  themselves  would  have  pro- 


194      THE   PSYCHO-FHTSIOLOOT  OF   01NTUB  AN1>  TALENT. 

(luced.  Any  production  of  the  arts  of  poetn',  painting,  etc., 

which  does  not  arouse  any  emotion  in  us,  is  not  recognized 

by  us  as  a  work  of  art,  no  matter  how  much  our  judgment 

may  be  convinced  that  it  is  intelligently  conceived,  and 

executed  with  vast  expenditure  of  energy  and  skill  and 

tlie  surmounting  of  great  obstacles.     The  effect  of  a  work 

of  art  tlnis  depends  upon  the  automatic  activity  of  our 

centres ;  but  this  activity  is  only  caused  by  impressions 

which  the  organism  and  the  whole  long  line  of  its  progeu- 

itors  have  been  accustomed  to  receive ;  this  excludes  all 

crenuine  noveltv  from  a  work  of  art ;  it  must  have,  in  order 

to  produce  any  effect,  old,  accustomed,  fii-ganut  impressions 

for  its  main  imi»rt     But  that  which  we  liave  learned  to 

recognize  as  peculiar  to  the  genius,  is  his  ability  to  form 

new  conceptious  differing  from  all  tliose  known  hitherto, 

and  to  convert  them  int4>  phenomena  apparent  to  the 

senses.     But  how  does  this  harmonize  with  the  art  which 

is  exclusively  occupied  in  repeating  impressions  that  are 

ol<l  and  common  lo  the  whole  race,  which  have  liecome 

organic  in  the  course  of  time? 

The  reply  to  this  delicate  question  causes  me  some  lit- 
tle embarrassment.  In  so  far  as  I  must  place  myself  in  oppo- 
istion  to  ideas  that  are  quite  genenilly  accepted.  It  is  true 
tliat  the  emotional  genius  is  not  properly  a  genius.  He 
does  not  create  anything  actually  new ;  lie  doc^s  not  give 
any  deeper  significance  to  the  human  consciousncw ;  he 
does  not  discover  any  truths  hitherto  unknown,  and  he 
has  no  iniuence  upon  the  material  worhl,  but  he  has  (per- 
tain psycho-physical  conditional  qualities  that  make  him  a 
special  being,  and  distinguish  him  from  the  average  type 
of  humanity.  The  centres  that  produce  the  emotional 
forms  of  activity  have  to  be  more  powerfully  developed  in 
him  than  in  ordinary  organisms.  The  consequences  of 
this  fact  are,  that  Bot  only  do  the  sense^impressions  arouse 


CLASSIFICATION    OF    GENIUSES. 


195 


liif' 


1 1  \, 


his  automatically-working  centres  to  a  more  intensive  form 
of  activity,  but  his  consciousness  as  well,  is  able  to  perceive 
more  of   it,  because  it  proceeds  with  more  noise,    on  a 
grander  scale  and  more  pretentiously,  as  it  were.     I  can 
make  this  quite  clear  by  associating  it  with  a  previous 
illustration.    An  emotional  genius  is  also  merely  such  a 
mechanical  music   box,  not  an   independently  inventing 
and    independently   playing   virtuoso;    true;    but    there 
are  music  boxes  and  music  boxes,  from  the  tiny  appa- 
ratus   that    can    only  produce  a  consumptive,   scarcely 
audible  murmur,  to  the  mechanical  organ,  whose  thunder- 
ous tones  can  shake  the  very  waUs.     Thus  we  can  imagine 
that  the  automatically-working  centres  in  the  emotional 
genius  also  play  mechanically,  it  is  true,  but  they  play  in- 
comparably louder  than  in  the  average  type  of  human 
being ;  that  the  former  is  the  organ,  the  latter  the  toy  music 
box.     And  one  result  of  the  power  of  his  mechanism  is 
that  the  consciousness  of  the  emotional  genius  has  more  of 
a  share  in  its  activity  than  is  the  case  with  ordinary  per- 
sons ;  but  of  course,  merely  in  perceiving,  not  creating  and 
influencing.     His  judgment  has  no  power  to  alter  anything 
in  the  automatic  work  done  by  his  centres,  ])ut  it  can  look  on 
and  see  how  it  is  progressing.     In  this  restricted  sense  the 
demand  for  novelty  and  originality,  which  constitutes  the 
work  of  a  genius,  is  likewise  realized  by  the  emotional 
genius.     It  is  true  he  only  evolves  traditional  and  long- 
accustomed  emotions,  but  he  evolves  them  in  a  more 
powerful  degree  than  other  men  were  able  to  before  him. 
The  effect  he  produces  is  thus  new  in  degree,  if  not  in  its 

nature. 

A  genius  is  ranked  according  to  the  dignity  of  the 
tissue  or  organ  upon  whose  exceptional  perfection  it  is 
founded.  All  other  systems  of  classification  are  unnatural 
and  arbitrary,  even  when  so  ingeniously  deduced  as  the 


Wd      THE  ■PSYCHO-PHYSIOT.OOY  OP  aENICS  AND   TALENT. 

theory  of  Bain.  The  more  exclusively  human  a  brain- 
eentre,  the  nobler  tlie  genius  produeed  liy  its  special  devel- 
opment It  is  hardly  necessary  to  explain  this  idea  by 
:uiy  reference  to  what  has  l>een  already  stated.  The  de- 
\i'lopment  of  bone-tissue  can  not  produce  a  genius,  as  large 
lM>ues  are  not  peculiar  to  the  liuman  race,  l)ut  are  foiuid  in 
whales  and  elephants  as  well ;  no  more  can  tlie  dexelop- 
meut  of  muscular  tissue,  which  distinguishes  a  ^lilo  of  Ci-o- 
ton,  but  does  not  niise  him  above  the  rank  of  the  stronger 
animals;  neither  are  tlie  sense-centres  adapted  to  form  the 
oi-ganic  foundation  of  Ji  genius,  as  the  condor  will  always 
surpass  even  the  most  perfect  human  eye  and  its  centre  of 
lightsensations,  while  in  acuteness  and  delicacy  of  hearing 
man  will  never  be  al)le  to  compete  with  certain  kinds  of 
antelopes,  etc.  Even  tlie  highest  centres  are  not  purely 
lunnan  as  long  as  their  perfection  does  not  reach  beyond 
automatism.  For  the  lilgher  animals  are  also  capable  of 
automatic  reactions  of  the  organism,  when  impressions 
lire  received  from  without,  and  these  reactions  are  unmis- 
takably apprehended  by  their  consciousness  as  emotions. 
Actions  and  the  psychical  excitations  of  love,  hatred, 
revenge,  fear,  and  affection,  which  accompany  them,  can 
be  observed  in  the  dog  or  the  elephant  just  as  well  as  in 
man,  and  the  only  difference  between  animals  and  men  in 
this  resixjct  is  that  the  emotions  can  lie  aroused  in  man  by 
tlie  artificial  imitation  or  8ymbolizati<m  of  natui-al  phenom- 
ana ;  while  in  animals,  on  the  other  hand,  they  can  only 
lie  aroused  by  tlie  natural  phenomena  themselves;  thus 
that  with  man  the  interpreting  activity  <*f  the  judgment, 
conse<iuently  also  of  the  memoiy  and  reason,  participates 
to  a  much  lai-ger  extent  in  the  formation  of  emotions  in 
man  than  is  the  case  with  animals.  The  judgment,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  exclusively  human,  in  so  far  as  it  goes  beyond 
the  Bimple,  immediate  interpretation  of  the  sease-impres- 


THE    MK\    OF   ACTION. 


197 


i 


I 


sions,  in  so  far  as  it  tbmis  ideas  from  them,  which  do  not 
correspond  in  any  way  to  events  occurring  withui  the  cog- 
uizance  of  tlie  senses,  so  far,  that  is,  to  employ  the  techni- 
cal term,  as  it  is  abstract,  and  deduces  new  abstractions  from 
former   alistractions.     No  animal    except  man  has  judg- 
ment, in  this  acceptation  of  the  term.     And  in  no  animal 
is  the  organic   dependence  of   the  will-centre  upon   the 
judgment-centre  so  pronounced  as  in  man.     The  superior 
development  of  the  judgment  and  will-centres  thus  pro- 
duces a  truly  human  genius,  which  is  the  highest  manifest- 
ation of  the  organic  perfection  attained  by  man  up  to  the 
[iresent  day.     Consequently,  those   men  of   genius   who 
combine  a  genius  in  judgment  with  a  genius  in  will  in  one 
person,  rank  the  higliest  of  all.     These  are  the  men  of 
action  who  make  history,  who  form  nations  intellectually 
and  materially,  and  dictate  their  ftite  for  years  to  come, 
the  great  legislators,  organizers,  creators  of  states,  revolu- 
tionists with  distinct  and  ultimately  attained  aims,  and 
oven  conquerors,  if  they  act  according  to  clearly  defined 
conceptions  of  their  judgment  and  not  from  semi-conscious 
iini)ulses.    In  knowledge  these  most  distinguished  geniuses 
rank  as  high  as  those  of  the  next  class ;  they  form  alistract 
conclusions  from  their  perceptions  with  just  as  much  cer- 
tainty ;  they  discover  with  equal  ease  the  non-con*crete  rela- 
tions between   phenomena,  tludr  causes,  their  laws  and 
their  remote  and  remotest  consequences  in  time  and  space. 
Yet  they  have  this  superiority  over  them :  that  they  can 
carry  their  ideas  into  execution,  not  only  overcoming  the 
resistance  of  inanimate  matter,  but  that  of  living  organ- 
isms, that  of  human  beings  as  well ;  they  can  thus  allow 
their  judgment  to  conceive  ideas,  with  a  view  to  their 
being  carried   into  execution  by  their  will,  ideas  which 
liave  for  their  purport  whole  nations  and  even  all  human- 
ity, and  which  they  can  only  realize  by  causing  the  will- 


i 


198     THE   FSY€HOPHY8I0L0QY  OP   OENHTS  AND  TALENT. 

centres  of  entire  peoples  or  even  of  all  humanity  to  be 
dependent  upon  their  individnal  will  and  judgment. 

To  the  second  class  belong  the  geniuses  of  judg- 
ment, with  a  will-power  fairly  but  not  highly  developed, 
the  great  scientific  investigators,  experimentalists,  discov- 
erers and  inventors.     What  causes  them  to  fall  below  the 
rank  of  geniuses  of  the  first  class,  is  their  inability  to  make 
use  of  men  as  the  material  for  the  realization  of  the  ideas 
conceived  by  their  judgment.     They  will  thus  be  able  only 
to  realize  such  ideas  as  have  inanimate  matter  for  their 
subject.     Their  will  is  powerful  enough  to  overcome  inani- 
mate but  not  animate  obstacles.    The  third  class  comprises 
the  geniuses  of  judgment  alone,  without  any  correspond- 
ing development  of  will  the  thinkers,  the  philosophers. 
By  their  knowledge,  their  wisdom,  their  gift  of  divining 
events  not  apparent  t«>  the  senses,  remote  both  in  time  and 
place,  they  give  eviitence  of  being  legitimate  nieml)ers  of 
the  same  family  of  geniuses  as  tlie  founders  of  states  and 
discoverers.     But  tliey  are  incomplete  in  so  far  as  the 
ideas,  conceived  by  tlieir  judgment  in  magnificent  per- 
lection,  remain  in  tlieir  brain,  or  at  the  most  only  liecome 
apparent  to  tlie  senses  in  tlie  guise  of  written  or  8i>oken 
words.     They  have  no  direct  influence  upon  men  or  inani- 
raale  objects.     They  do  not  cause  any  phenomena  of  move- 
ment.    Another's  will  has  first  to  \m  incited  to  action  by 
their  ideas  before  the  processes  taking  place  in  their  centre 
of  judgment  can  cause  any  processes  outside  of  their 
oi^anism.     Next  to  these  three  chisscs  of  genius  in  ita 
cogitational  form,  next  to  the  subduers  of  men,  the  sub- 
duefs  of  matter  and  the  mere  thinkers,  come  last  of  all, 
the  emotional  geniuses,  who  are  distinguislied  from  average 
humanity  by  the  greater  force  of  the  automatic  action  of 
their  centres,  but  not  by  any  special  original  development, 
and  who  can  only  arouse  partially  or  entirely  unconscious 


.1 


RANK  OF  THE   POET. 


199 


emotions  in  other  people,  without  being  able  to  impart  any 
new,  conscious  ideas  to  them,  nor  any  conscious  impulses 
to  movement.  Among  these  emotional  geniuses  then,  the 
poets  rank  highest,  for  in  the  first  place,  their  judgment 
plays  an  important  piirt  in  their  work,  and  in  the  second 
place,  they  produce  their  effects  through  a  medium,  which 
of  all  those  inediums  apparent  to  the  senses  is  by  all  means 
the  best  adapted  to  portray  the  conditions  of  the  conscious- 
ness, this  supreme  substance  of  all  art,  and  this  medium  is 
lauiruaoe.  While  artists  and  musicians  are  restricted  to  the 
<liscovery  and  reproduction  of  such  special  characteristics 
of  the  conditions  of  the  consciousness  as  are  apparent  to 
the  senses,  and  which  afford  only  a  rather  indefinite  deline- 
ation of  them,  the  poet  is  enabled  to  define  and  specify  these 
characteristics  to  such  a  degree  that  they  can  be  hardly  mis- 
taken for  any  other  similar  conditions  of  the  (nmsciousness. 
The  lyric  poet,  "his  eye  in  fine  frenzy  rolling,"  perhaps 
alone  can  dispense  with  the  co-operation  of  the  judgment,  as 
impressions  can  automatically  incite  his  centres  of  speech 
to  acti\'ity  without  going  around  by  way  of  the  conscious- 
ness. But  in  all  other  kinds  of  poetry,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  poet  has  to  form  conscious  ideas  with  his  judgment 
which  differ  from  those  conceived  by  thinkers  in  this  only, 
that  their  object  is  the  representation  of  inherited  emotions 
and  not  the  divination  of  the  abstract  relations  existing 
between  phenomena. 

•  This  classification  is  the  only  natural  one,  as  it  is 
based  upon  organic  premises.  But  the  ordinary  concep- 
tion of  the  different  classes  of  geniuses  differs  very  materi- 
ally from  this.  Cogitational  natures  value  the  genius 
according  to  the  benefits  with  whieh  he  endows  the  race, 
and  according  to  their  comprehension  of  them  ;  emotional 
natures  according  to  the  strength  and  agreeableness  of  the 
emotions  he  is  able  to  arouse.    A  brave  and  powerful  war- 


200     THE   P8YC!eO-PnYSIOLO(iY  OF  GENIUS  ANT)  TALENT. 

rio?  is  the  most  importiiDt  member  of  any  primitive  com- 
mimity.     Strength  of  mnscle  and  of  will,  that  is,  courage, 
are  therefore  prized  as  the  most  gloriotis  enilowments  of 
a  man ;  the  fortunate'  possessor  of  them  is  honored  above 
all  other  men  of  liis  race  and  venerated  as  a  demigod.     In 
such  a  community  it  is  evident  that  no  great  thhiker  and 
investigator,  no  philosopher,  no  raatheraatieian,  no  experi- 
mentalist would  have  any  claim  to  appreciation.     If  a 
Descartes  or  a  Newton  slionld  arise  in  some  tribe  of  Indi- 
ans, he  would  lie  considered  a  useless  member  of  the  band, 
and  any  successful  Ijear-honter,  any  warrior  who  wore  the 
scalps  of  several  cuemies  at  his  belt,  would  be  ranked  far 
above  him.     And  from  a  utilitarian  point  of  view  they 
would  Imj  entirely  right,  fi)r  what  Indians  require  at  the 
stage  of  development  to  wliicli  they  have  attained,  is  not 
mathemuties  and  metaphysics,  Init  meat  and  security.    It 
is  due  to  a  survival  of  tlie  opinions  of  uncivilized  and  sav- 
age men  that  wc  must  ascribe  the  supreme  rank  accorded 
the  soldier  in  our  pretended  civilization,  and  the  reverence 
paid  to  his  uniform,  to  the  war-like  tattooing  on   his 
collar,  his  sleeves  and  the  breast  of  his  jacket ;  a  reverence 
extremely  natural  and  comprehensible  in  primitive  man, 
but  without  any  rational  significance  at  the  present  stage 
of  our  civilization.     And  it  is  just  as  natural  for  emotional 
natnres  to  value  a  genius  in  proportion  to  the  emotions  with 
which  he  supplies  them.     They  are  incapal)le  of  an}'  orig- 
inal, individual  thought,  while  on  the  other  hand,  tlieir  auto- 
matic, organized  cerebral  activity  may  he  quite  vigorous. 
Their  consciousness  is,  therefore,  not  filled  with  any  clearl}- 
defined  ideas,  but  with  the  semi-obscure,  confused  pictures 
which  we  reiieatedly  have  had  occasion  to  describe  in  these 
pages,  and  which  form  tlie  automatic  activity  of  tlic  brain 
centres,  of  which  the  consciousness  becomes  aware.    The 
genuine  genius,  that  is,  the  genius  in  judgment,  requires 


WOMAN    AND   MrSIC. 


201 


'■ 


coiiscions,  non-organized,  non-inherited  work  of  their  high- 
est centres,  and  tliis  they  arc  not  able  to  perform.     The 
judgment-genius,  therefore,  for  them   has   no   existence. 
The  emotional  pseudo-genius  on  the  contrary,  incites  the 
automatic  activity  of  their  centres,  and  is  therefore  recog- 
nized bv  them  ;  he  is  to  them  a  source  of  sensations,  and  as 
life  is  measured  by  the  sensations  it  contains,  the  emotional 
genius  is  in  their  eyes,  a  sublime  dispenser  of  life.     For 
this  reason  women  will  always  esteem  an  artist  higher 
than  a  thinker  and  investigator,  and  among  artists,  the 
musician  is  very  naturally  the  one  they  appreciate  the 
most,  as  the  emotions  which  music  affords  them  excite  also 
the  ncr\-e-centres  of  sex  and  passion,  and  arc  therefore  the 
profoundest  and   most  agreeable.     But  the   painter  and 
even  the  actor  have  a  very  high  place  in  woman's  estima- 
tion ;  the  former  because  his  art  does  not  call  for  the  slight- 
est cogitational  activity,  and  can  thus  be  enjoyed  by  her 
without  the  ditncult  effort  of  thought ;  the  latter  for  the 
same  reason,  and  also  because  the  effect  of  his  activity  in 
imitating  and  realizing  emotional  frames  of  mind  is  in- 
creased by  the  human  effect  of  his  personality.    Emotional 
natures,  among  whom  woman  again  takes  the  lead,  will 
prize  the  poet  according  to  the  degree  in  which  his  work 
is  purely  emotional  and  not  cogitational ;  the  l.y4-ic  poet, 
therefore,  more  than  the  epic,  the  portrayer  of  external, 
exciting  o'ents  rather  than  the  analyzers  of  mental  condi- 
tions.    Such  an  estimate  of  genius  can  not  be  the  criterion 
for  us,  of  course.     If  the  strength  of  the  emotions  arouscnl 
in  one  is  to  decide  the  rank  of  the  genius,  then  a  man 
would  rank  his  sweetheart,  a  woman,  her  lover,  higher  than 
any  genius  that  the  human  race  has  thus  far  produced,  as 
there  can  be  no  question  that  Juliet  awakens  more  pro- 
found sentiments  in  Romeo,  and  Leander  in  Hero,  than 
Goethe  or  Shakespeare,  Beethoven  or  Mozart,  to  say  noth- 


202      THE   PSYCHO-PHYSIOLOGY  OP  GENIUS  AND  TALENT. 

ing,  of  course,  of  Kant  or  La  Place,  Julius  Caesar  or  Bis- 
marck. And  1  am  also  of  the  opinion  that  if  these  inter 
esting  couples  were  interrogated,  they  would  not  hesitate 
to  proclaim  their  Juliet  or  their  Leander,  the  most  glo- 
rious genius  the  world  has  ever  seen. 

TMe  proi>€r  criterion  of  the  rank  of  the  genius  is  thus 
not  the  eflbct  of  one  personality  upon  another,  as  this  effect 
varies  according  to  the  higher  or  lower  development  of  the 
fieople  upon  whom  it  operates,  and  the  gi-eater  or  less  degree 
of  their  cogitational  i)ower,— it  is  the  more  or  less  exclusive- 
ly human  character  of  the  brain-centres,  whose  exceptional 
development  is  the  psycho-physical  foundation  of  their 
personality.  And  as  the  highest  and  uKisi  human  brain- 
centre  is  the  judgment-centre,  the  development  of  the  judg- 
ment is  the  sole  recpiisite  to  a  genuine  genius,  although 
it  requires  a  corresponding  development  of  the  will  to 
make  the  creations  of  its  judgment-centre  apparent  to 
others.  The  judgraent^genius,  up  to  the  present  time,  is  the 
most  consummate  t}  pe  of  human  perfection.  Whether  the 
organic  development  of  mankind  is  to  proceed  farther,  and 
what  direction  it  will  take,  this  none  but  a  great  judgment- 
genius  could  divine,  by  means  of  his  faculty  for  drawing 
conclusions  from  given  conditions  in  regard  to  what  is 
most  remote  in  time  and  space. 


SUGGESTION. 


The  reader  has  now  learned  my  ideas  in  regard  to  the 
way  human  progress  is  accomplished.  It  does  not  move 
Ibrward  with  a  broad  front  to  the  battalion,  with  officers 
for  the  rank  and  file.  A  very  small  minority  of  path-find- 
ers go  singly  in  advance  ;  they  force  their  way  through  the 
thicket,  they  blaze  the  trees,  erect  sign-boards,  and  lead  the 
way ;  the  masses  then  follow,  first  in  small  groups,  then  in 
dense  crowds.  Each  advancement  of  humanity  is  the 
work  of  some  genius,  which  performs  the  same  functions  in 
the  race  as  the  highest  brain-centres  in  the  individual.  Tlie 
genius  thinks,  judges,  wills  and  acts  for  mankind ;  he 
converts  impressions  into  ideas,  he  divines  the  laws  of 
which  phenomena  are  the  expression,  he  responds  to  all 
incitation  from  without  with  appropriate  movements,  and 
is  perpetually  enlarging  the  horizon  of  the  consciousness. 
Humanity  at  large  does  nothing  but  imitate  the  genius;  it 
repeats  what  the  genius  has  done  before.  Those  individuals 
who  are  normally  constituted,  well  and  evenly  developed, 
do  it  at  once,  and  almost  equal  the  pattern.  We  speak  of 
them  as  talented.  Those  individuals  who  fall  below  the 
average  standard  of  the  contemporaneous  types  of  human- 
ity in  one  or  more  respects,  only  accomplish  it  later  and 
after  strenuous  exertions ;  their  imitation  is  neither  skill- 
ful nor  faithful.     These  are  the  Philistines. 

In  what  way  now  does  the  genius  produce  his  effect 
upon  the  masses?    How  can  he  induce  them  to  think  his 


204 


gUGOESTIO'N. 


thoiiglits  after  him,  to  imitate  liis  actions?     Sni)erfieiality 
is  ready  wit  li  tlie  obvious  reply :   *'  Example !  Imitation  1 " 
Witli  tliis  rcadv  answer  we  tliink  we  have  said  everj^- 
thing.     But  ill  reality  it  explains  nothing ;  it  neither  gives 
OS  to  understeni!  why  men  and  especially  animals  have 
that  instinct  to  imitate,  nor  by  what  means  one  l)eing  in- 
duces another  to  let  his  brain-eentres  and  muscles  work 
in  the  same  way  as  those  of  the  former.     Here  is  a  man 
who  thinks  or  does  something.     Here  is  another  man  who 
inwajdly  thinks  the  same  thoughts,  outwardly  repeats  the 
same  action.    I  can  not  help  considering  the  thought  or 
the  action  of  the  one  as  the  cause,  the  thought  or  the 
action  of  the  other  as  the  effect    I  see  the  example  and 
the  imitation.    But  a  chasm  yawns  between  them.    I  can 
not  see  the  tie  that  connects  them.    I  do  not  know  yet 
how  the  abyss  between  the  cause  and  the  effect  is  bridged 
over.     We  stand  here  tefore  a  similar  difficulty  to  that 
confronting  cinematics  or  the  science  of  moving  forces, 
which,  it  is  true,  establishes  the  fact  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  motion,  and  determines  its  laws  with  greater  or 
less  certainty,  but  yet  has  never  made  the  slightest  attempt 
to  explain  how  the  motion  of  one  Ixxly  is  communicated  to 
another,  how  force  leaps  through  the  intermediate  space 
not  mied  with  matter,  from  one  atom  to  another,  and  oper- 
ates upon  it.    The  inability  of  the  human  intellect  U>  imag- 
ine how  force  or  motion,  which  in  itself  is  not  material,  but 
merely  a  condition  of  matter,  could  cross  a  substanceless 
space,  a  vacuum,  between  atoms,  is  in  fact  the  strongest 
intional  objection  against  the  doctrine  of  atoms  which  has 
governed  philosophy  since  the  days  of  Anaxagoras,  and  up- 
on which  onr  present  science  of  mechanics  and  chemistry 
is  founded ;  it  is  this  inability  which  necessitated  the  accept- 
ance of  thai  utterly  incomprehensible  ether,  which  is  sup- 
posed to  surround  the  atoms,  and  which  has  induced  some 


HYPNOTISM. 


205 


of  the  most  profound  miuds  of  till  ages  and  even  of  the 
present  day,  to  prefer  the  theory  of  the  unity  and  continuity 
of  matter  tliroughout  all  space  to  atomical  philosophy,  as  it 
is  called. 

Psychology  can  overcome  this  difficulty  I  believe,  far 
easier  tliuu  the  science  of  motion.  It  can  appeal  to  a  phe- 
nomenon, only  recently  observed  and  studied,  which  is  in 
itself  quite  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  the  fact,  proved 
by  experience,  that  human  beings  influence  each  other 
mentelly,  that  human  beings  imitate  others.  This  phe- 
nomenon is  suggestion. 

One  word  of  explanation  for  those  who  mny  not  hap- 
pen to  know  what  is  understood  by  suggestion  in  psychol- 
ogy. AVe  learned  in  the  preceding  chapter  that  all  motion 
is  caused  l>y  the  will,  and  that  the  will  is  induced  to  impart 
its  impulse  to  movement  upon  conscious  excitation  from 
the  judgment,  or  upon  unconscious  automatic  excitations 
of  an  emotional  nature.  If  now  these  excitations  which 
impel  the  will  to  aclivit}*  do  not  proceed  from  an  indi- 
vidual's own  brain  but  from  the  brain  of  another,  if 
an  individual's  will  becomes  the  servant  of  another's 
judgment  or  of  another's  emotions,  and  canies  into  exe- 
cution ideas  of  movement  which  originated  in  another  cen- 
tral nervous  system,  then  we  say  that  the  actions  of  this 
individual  are  "suggested"  to  him,  and  that  he  is  under 
the  influence  of  "suggestion."  Suggestion  can  be  best 
studied,  of  coui-se,  when  it  is  morbidly  exaggerated.  This 
is  the  case  in  hypnotism.  An  individual  susceptible  of 
being  hypnotized,  and  thus,  as  a  general  thing,  of  an  hys- 
terical organization,  is  put  into  this  extraordinary-  state  of 
the  nervous  system,  which  has  not  been  satisfactorily  ex- 
plained as  yet.  The  one  who  has  hypnotized  him  then 
tells  him:  "Tomorrow  morning  at  eight  o'clock  you  will 
go  to  X  street,  No.  so  and  so,  ask  for  Mr.  Mayer,  and  stab 


206 


SUOGE8TI0N. 


Mm  with  a  kitchen  kiiife  which  you  will  take  with  you." 
The  hj-pnotized  individual  is  then  awakened  and  allowetl 
to  depart.  He  has  not  the  slightest  remembrance  of  what 
happened  to  him  in  his  unconscious  state.  He  does  not 
know  Mr.  Mayer,  perhaps  has  never  Ijeen  in  X  street,  and 
besides  all  this,  has  never  injured  even  a  fly  voluntarily. 
But  the  next  morning  he  takes  a  kitchen  knife,  stealing  it 
somewhere  if  there  is  no  other  way  of  obtaining  it,  goes  to 
X  street,  rings  Mr.  Mayer's  bell  on  the  stroke  of  eight,  and 
would  certainly  proceed  to  stiib  him,  if  Mr.  Mayer  had  not 
been  informed  of  the  experiment  and  token  the  necessary 
precautions.  The  individual  is  then  seized,  disai-med  and 
interrogated  as  to  his  intentions.  As  a  rule,  he  at  once 
admits  his  criminal  intent;  sometimes  he  commences  deny- 
ing the  whole  matter,  and  only  confesses  upon  some 
pressure.  If  he  is  asked  why  he  wanted  to  commit  mur- 
der, he  says,  if  he  is  a  simpleton,  eitiier :  "  It  had  to  be," 
or  else  he  maintains  an  obstinsite  silence ;  but  if  he  is  a 
clever  or  prudent  fellow,  he  invents  the  most  astonishing 
stories  to  explain  to  himself  and  the  rest,  what  he  was 
about  to  do.  In  this  case,  Mr.  Mayer  is  usually  an  old 
friend  of  the  family.  He  has  been  conspiring  in  secret 
against  the  individual.  He  has  slandered  him,  injured 
him  in  his  profession,  etc.  The  hypnotized  individual 
never  has  the  slightest  suspicion  that  his  action  has  been 
imposed  upon  him,  "suggestecr'  to  him  by  the  judgment 
of  another.  But  suggestion  will  not  only  oi)erate  from 
one  day  to  another,  it  has  been  known  to  have  retained  its 
|)ower  for  six  months.  A  certain  act,  suggested  in  the 
hypnotized  state,  was  jjerf ormed  half  a  year  af terwartls  on 
the  day  previously  decided,  in  all  its  slightest  details,  with- 
out the  individual  in  question  having  the  faintest  suspicion 
of  the  suggestion  imposed  upon  him  throughout  the  whole 
of  the  intervening  period.    It  is  not  necessary  for  a  sugges- 


MECHAN1S3I   OF   SITOGESTION. 


207 


tion  to  take  the  form  of  an  express  command.  A  hint  is 
sufficient.  If  the  hypnotizer  assumes  a  sad  expression 
and  says  a  few  words,  no  matter  what  their  pur^wrt,  in  a 
mournful  tone  to  his  subject,  the  latter  at  once  becomes 
very  sad,  and  speaks  and  acts  as  people  are  accustomed  to 
act  at  times  of  the  most  profound  depression.  If  he  is 
asked,  '*Do  you  like  being  a  soldier?  "  he  becomes  imme- 
diately convinced  that  he  is  one,  and  begins  to  command, 
to  drill,  and  perhaps  even  to  swear,  in  short,  to  do  every- 
thing that  he  considers  essential  for  a  soldier,  and  this 
even  when  the  individual  is  a  woman.  If  a  glass  of  water 
is  handed  him  with  the  question,  "How  do  you  like  this 
wine?  "  he  tastes  the  wine  and  is  able,  if  he  is  a  connois- 
seur, to  distinguish  the  kind  and  the  year  of  its  vintage ; 
if  he  is  allowed  to  drink  much  of  it  he  will  even  become 
completely  intoxicated.  I  could  mention  a  hundred  simi- 
lar examples  of  suggestion,  whicii  is  already  the  subject  of 
a  whole  literature  in  France,  where  such  pre-eminent  ob- 
servers and  experimentalists  as  Charcot,  Bernheim,  Du- 
montpallier  and  Magnin  have  paid  much  attention  to  it 

In  all  these  cases  the  matter  is  simply  a  state  of  mor- 
bid sensil)ility.  Suggestion  can  not  operate  so  violently 
upon  a  healthy  human  being.  It  is  impossible  to  make 
him  believe  that  water  is  wine,  or  that  he  is*  a  cardinal, 
when  he  is  simply  a  law  student,  and  it  will  be  a  difficult 
matter  to  induce  him  to  make  over  his  property  with  due 
legal  formalities  to  some  stranger,  wliose  name  even  he 
does  not  know.  But  that  suggestion  does  have  some 
effect  ui)on  him  also,  although  in  a  far  more  limited 
degree,  and  tliat  his  ideas  and  his  actions  are  also  under 
the  influence  of  suggestion,  are  facts  established  almost 

beyond  a  doubt 

I  wished  to  explain  how  one  person  works  upon 
unother,  how  a  man  happens  to  imitate  the  thoughts  and 


208 


SUGQESTIOlf. 


acts  of  juiotlier,  but  so  far,  I  liiive  only  siibstituted  one 
won!  for  aootlier,  in  saying  -Suggestion,"  instead  of  '-Kx- 
ample  and  Imitation."  But  what  now  is  the  esseni'e  of 
suggestion,  and  how  is  it  prwlyefd?  The  reply  which  I 
sliall  make  to  this  qnestion  is  of  eourse  only  a  liyixjtliesis. 
but  it  seems  to  me  to  eo\  er  the  gronnti,  and  it  is  not  con- 
tradicted l»y  any  fact  olisened  up  to  date.  Suggestion  is 
the  transmission  of  the  niovementa  of  the  molecules  of  one 
brain  to  those  of  another,  in  the  same  way  as  one  string  coni- 
municates  its  vibrations  to  some  neighlxiring  string,  or  as  a 
hot  iron  rod  held  against  a  cold  one,  will  eonnuunicate  to  the 
latter  its  own  molecnlar  motion.  As  all  ideas,  judgments 
and  emotions  are  processes  of  motion  of  the  l)rain  mole- 
cules, It  follows  of  couwe  that  the  transmission  of  this 
molecular  motion  to  another  brain,  communicates  at  the 
same  time  the  judgments,  ideas  and  emotions,  the  meciian- 
ical  foimdation  of  which  is  tliis  very  nioleculur  motion. 

To  make  this  perfectly  clear,  1  have  only  to  add  v.  few 
brief  details.     As  we  dem- >nstralcd  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ter, our  organism  has  but  one  single  iiitniiis  of  nuikiug  the 
state  of  its  ccmsciousncss— that  is.  judgments,  ideas  am.l 
emotions — niiparent  to  the  sensis  <»r  others  also,  and  tins 
is,  by  movements.     Certain  slates  (»f  the  consciousness  ai-e 
the  cause  of  ct»rtaln  movements,  which  ai-e  thus  the  cx- 
|)ression  of  them.    AVe  become  accustomed  to  associate  the 
movements  with  the  states  of  the  consciousness  that  occa^ 
sion  them,  and  from  them  txi  form  conclusions  in  regard  to 
tlie  latter.     A  movement  is  either  a  direct  or  a  symljolical 
expression  of  some  state  of  the  consciousness.     When  one 
man  liits  another  a  l)Iow  with  his  list,  this  muscular  action 
is  the  direct  expriission  of  a  state  of  the  consciouwness 
which  reprcssents  the  idea,  "I  will  strike."     On  the  other 
hand,  if  a  man  droops  his  head  and  sighs,  this  movement 
of  the  muscles  of  tlic  neck  and  chest  m  the  symliolical  ex- 


NATURAL   AND   CONVENTION  AT.    SYMBOLS. 


20^ 


pression  of  a  state  of  the  consciousness,  which  we  may  call 
depression  or  melancholy.  The  symbols  of  the  states  of 
the  consciousness  can  be  separated  into  two  groups,  the 
natural  and  the  conventional.  The  natural  symbols  are 
those  that  are  or«:anicallv  associated  witli  certain  states  of 
the  consciousness.  The  latter  can  not  occur  without 
prmbicing  the  former.  Yawning  and  laughing  are  the 
natural  symbols  of  fatigue  and  merriment.  The  constitu- 
tion of  our  organism  is  such,  that  in  a  state  of  fatigue,  that 
is,  l)y  an  accumulation  of  the  results  of  decomposition 
occasioned  by  work  (of  hwXk'  acid,  for  instance),  in  the  tis- 
sues, tlie  nerves  that  innervate  the  respiratory  muscles  be- 
come incited  to  actioji,  and  thus  produce  a  cramp  in  these 
muscles,  which  we  designate  by  the  term  yawn.  As  the 
prominent  features  of  the  organism  are  the  same  in  all 
men  and  to  some  extent  in  all  living  beings,  the  natural 
symbols  are  the  same  throughout  all  humanity;  they  are  un- 
derstood by  all  nmn  and  even  partially  by  the  higher  ani- 
mals, and  the  experience  obtained  l\y  mere  observation  of 
self  is  all  that  is  nei*ded  to  interpret  their  significance  and 
to  divine  the  sUite  of  the  consciousness  which  the  symlx)ls 
in  question  are  meant  to  express.  The  conventional  sym- 
bols, on  the  other  hand,  are  those  that  are  not  organically 
associated  with  the  state  of  the  consciousness  they  are 
supposed  to  represent,  and  are  not  necessaril}'  produced 
by  them,  but  have  obtained  their  significance  by  a  conven- 
tional acceptance  of  them  by  mankind.  Nodding  the  heaxl 
and  beckoning  with  the  Ibretlnger  are  conventional  sym- 
Ik)1s  of  those  states  of  the  consciousness  which  comprise 
the  ideas:  "I  agree  with  you,"  or  "Come  here."  Our 
giving  these  interpretations  to  these  movements  is  an  arbi- 
trary procedure  on  our  part  (and  yet  not  entirely  arbitrarj- 
after  all,  the  conventional  symbols  having  their  origin 
rather  in  the  natural  symbols  as  well ;  however,  this  is  not 


210 


BIIGOKSTION. 


the  place  to  develope  this  idea),  iind  they  do  not  have  the 
same  interpretation  among  all  peoples.  The  Orientals,  for 
example,  do  not  mofe  their  head  up  and  down  in  token  of 
assent^  as  we  do,  hut  from  the  right  to  the  left  and  hack 
again.  The  test  and  most  important  example  of  a  conven- 
tional sjniMical  movement  is  language,  this  result  of  the 
vital  activity  of  onr  organs  of  respiration  and  speech.  To 
divine  tlie  state  of  the  consciousness  of  which  any  word  is 
tlie  exponent,  we  must  have  learned  to  associate  the  two 
together,  and  the  experience  gained  by  observation  of  self 
is  not  sufficient  for  this.  The  wisest  man  in  the  worid 
would  never  guess  that  "Fu"  meant  bliss,  unless  lie  under- 
stood Chinese. 

The  molecular  movements  in  the  brain  which  produce 
states  of  the  consciousntss,  thus  pixxluee  muscular  move- 
ments.  These  movements  are  apprehended  by  the  brain 
of  another  pei-son  by  means  of  his  senses ;  that  is,  with  the 
aid  of  some  or  of  all  his  senses.  Some  movements  and 
the  traces  they  leave  iMjhiiid  them,  such  as  written  chanic- 
tei-8,  for  instiuice,  appeal  to  the  sense  of  sight,  othei-s  to  the 
sense  of  hearing,  still  others  to  the  touch.  Tiie  sense  re- 
ceives tlie  impression  and  hands  it  on,  and  starts  the  pro- 
cess of  interpreting  it,  that  is,  it  induces  some  centre  to 
convert  the  impression  into  an  idea,  and  places  the  con- 
sciousness in  that  same  state,  of  which  the  muscular  move- 
ment,  appi-cliended  l)y  tlie  sense,  was  the  outward  maiiifest- 
atlon.  Asscxjiating  tills  process  witli  mechanical  principles 
we  can  describe  it  in  some  such  way  as  this :  The  changes 
in  the  sensor}'  nen^cs  produced  by  phenomena  of  movement, 
occasion  in  their  turn  changes  in  the  sense-perceptive 
organs  of  the  brain,  which  in  turn  induce  molecular  motion 
in  the  centres  of  consciousness,  the  chniacter  and  strength 
of  which  depend  ui>on  the  nature  of  tlie  excitation,  that  is, 
upon  the  characlcr  and  strength  of  the  molecular  motion 


♦ 


RESISTANCE   TO  SIKKJESTION. 


211 


in  the  other  brain,  which  was  the  primal  cause  of  the  mus- 
cular movement.  Thus  by  means  of  the  muscles  on  one 
side,  and  the  senses  on  the  other,  the  state  of  one  brain  is 
mechanically  communicated  to  another,  and  this  is  what  is 
meant  by  suggestion. 

For  one  brain  to  accept  the  molecular  motion  of 
another  in  the  manner  just  described,  that  is,  to  repeat  the 
judgments,  ideas,  emotions  and  will-impulses  of  the  latter, 
it  should  not  be  the  scene  of  any  molecular  motion  of  its 
own  of  a  different  kind,  and  of  equal  or  gi-eater  strength. 
In  other  words :  it  must  not  be  able  to  perfonn  vigorous 
mental  labor  for  itself,  just  as  a  vibrating  string  can  onl}- 
move  another  that  is  at  rest  or  nearly  so,  and  cannot  incite 
a  larger  string  or  one  vibrating  in  a  different  way,  to  pro- 
duce its  own  tone.  The  more  organically  insignificant  a 
brain,  therefore,  the  more  readily  it  will  obey  the  impulse 
to  movement  proceeding  from  some  other  brain  ;  the  more 
complete  and  powerful  the  brain,  the  more  energetic  its 
own  processes  of  movements,  the  greater  the  resistance  it 
offers  to  the  other  brain.  Thus,  under  normal  conditions, 
the  individual  of  greater  perfection  exercises  a  suggestion 
upon  the  individual  of  less  perfection,  but  the  reverse  is  not 
the  case.  It  is  true  that  the  processes  of  movjements  of 
even  less  complete  brains  can,  by  combining,  attain  such  a 
degree  of  strength,  that  they  can  overcome  the  processes 
of  movement  of  even  an  extremely  perfect  brain.  When 
large  numbers  of  men  are  feeling  and  expressing  the  same 
emotions,  even  very  strong-minded  and  original  individuals 
can  not  escape  their  influence.  They  are  compelled  to 
participate  in  these  emotions,  no  matter  how  much  they 
may  try  to  prevent  the  evolution  of  this  particular  state  of 
the  consciousness  by  diverting  ideas  and  judgments.  The 
explanation  of  the  fact  that  suggestion  can  be  practiced 
most  easily  and  successfully  upon  hypnotic  individuals  is. 


Ml  JLai 


8llO«E8TIOIf. 


that  ill  this  coiidition  of  the  iien'Oiis  system,  the  molecules 
ofthebraio  have  the  leiist  possilile  motion  of  their  own 
and  are  in  an  esi>eeially  unstable  stJite  of  equilibrium,  so 
that  the  slightest  impulse  will  set  them  in  motion,  the 
character  and  strength  of  which  is  determined  by  the 
nature  of  the  excitation. 

The  impressions  on  the  senses  by  which  the  sugges- 
tion is  effected  may  Ije  perceived  by  the  consciousness,  but 
it  is  possible  and  even  probable  that  tliere  is  perpetual 
molecular  motion  in  the  brain  caused  by  similar  sense- 
impressions,  of  which  we  are  not  conscious  in  the  least. 
The  London  Society  of  Psychological  Investigation  has 
published  rei^ort  after  report  which  have  estol)lished  this 
fact  beyond  a  doubt     One  individual,  in  a  room  with 
another,  draws  on  a  slate  figures    which  the  latter  has 
thought  in  his  mind.     Of  couree  the  person  drawing  the 
igures  has  his  back  turned  to  the  one  that  is  thinking ;  the 
latter  does  not  utter  a  word,  and  there  is  not  the  slightest 
possible  intercourse,  apparent  to  the  senses,  between  them. 
In  other  tests,  one  pereon  wrote  words,  figures  and  letters 
which  another  thought.     Some  times  these  ex'iKiriments 
were  sMccessftd,  aiul  at  other  times  they  were  failures. 
However,  they  sueeceded  so  frequently,  that  the  idea  of 
chance  has  to  be  excluded.     Tlie  society  is  a  serious  one 
and  consists  of  men  of  acknowledged  integrity,  some  of 
whom  have  the  reputation  of  Iciuiiiug.     It  has  nothing 
to  do  with  spiritualistic  frauds,  and  although  it  has  laid 
itself  open  to  unfavorable  criticism  to  some  extent  by 
its  inquiries  into  the  subject  of  ghosts,  yet  we  have  no  right 
to  depreciate  the  rest  of  its  work  on  this  account.    The 
possibility  of  unconscious  suggestion  can  tlie  more  read- 
ily lie  conceded,  as  it  is  capalile  of  being  satisfiictorily  ex- 
plained l»y  fiicts  already  firmly  established.     H\'ery  idea 
that  includes  a  uiovement,  (and  tliere  ;u-e  no  otlun-  kinds 


EVERY    IDEA    FOl.LOWED    BY   MOVEMENT. 


213 


of  ideas,  as  even  those  apparently  the  most  abstract  of  all. 
are  still  composed  ultimately  of  images  of  nioveuient), 
actually  produces  this  movement,  although  perhaps  in  the 
slightest  degree  imaginable.     The  muscles  which  are  to 
perform  the  movement  in  question  receive  a  very  feeble 
impulse,  and  the  higher  centres  become  aware  of  it  through 
the  muscle-sense,  whieh  announces  the  receipt  of  the  im- 
pulse.    We  must  imagine  the  process  to  l)e  like  this :   that 
the  memory,  the  reason  and  the  judgment  in  composing  any 
idea  occasion  an  innervation  of  the  nniscles  which  are  to 
take  part  in  its  execution,  and  that  the  idea  does  not  attain 
to  its  fullest  intensity  until  the  judgment  i-eceives  informa- 
tion of  the  completed  iimervation.     Strieker  of  Viemia,  was 
the  tirst  to  observe  and  demonstrate  this  fact,  although  at 
fnst  only  in  resi)ect  to  the  development  of  ideas  of  sound. 
If  we  thiidv — according  to  the  learned  experimentalist  in 
pathology — for  example,  the  letter  B,  this  idea  causes  an 
innerv.ation  of  the  muscles  of  the  li[)S  which  co-operate  in 
the  production  of  the  letter  B.     The  idea  •"  V>  "  is  therefore 
in  fact  an  image  of  that  movenK'ut  of  the  lips  by  whieh 
the  B  is  produced,  and  the  movement  is  also  perceptible 
in  the  lips,   although  of  course  it  is  very  faint.     What 
Strieker  says  f>f  the   movemeuls  of  the  muscles  of  the 
apparatus  of  speech,  probably  applies  as  well  to  those  of 
all  the  other  muscles.    When  the  idea  of  running  occurs  to 
the  consciousness,  there  is  a  sensation  of  movement  in  the 
muscles  of  the  lower  limbs,  etc.     Tlic  reason  why  every 
idea  of  movement  is  not  followed  at  once  by  the  movement 
itself,  is  owing  to  the  fact  that,  in  the  first  place,  the  im- 
pulse which  is  imparted  to  the  proper  muscles  by  the  mere 
ima^'-e  of  movement,  is  too  feeble  to  produce  an  effective 
contraction  in  them,  and,  in   the  second  place,  that  the 
consciousness  opposes  all  images  of  movements  whieh  it  is 
not  intende<l  to  carry  into  execution,  by  an  idea  intercepting 


^u^ritt^OHIUlM 


^U^^^UIhdjIUyMI 


214 


glJOG'BSTIO'K. 


Iheiii.   If  ilie  iilcii  is  :i  very  miiniated  one,  or  if  the  conscious- 
iiess  has  not  sufficient  energy  and  practice  to  evolve  pre- 
ventive impulses  of  sufficient  intensity,  the  mere  image  of 
tlie  movement  is  in  fact  all  that  is  necessary  to  produce  at 
least  an  outline  sketch  of  the  movement  itself,  ilistinctly 
apparent  to  the  senses.     We  murmur  the  words  we  are 
thinking  of;  we  begin  to  talk  to  ourselves;  we  indicate 
with  our  liands  and  arms  the  series  of  movements  we  have 
in  our  minds ;  we  gesticulate.     Soliloquizing  and  gesticu- 
lating,—these  qualities  of  vivacious  pereons  and  of  those 
not  sufficiently  trained  to  self-control,  qualities  observed, 
however,  also  in  calm   and   well-trained    individuals,  at 
moments  of  exceptional  excitement — are  special  coufinna- 
tions  of  the  correctness  and    universality   of  Strieker's 
law  in  regard  to  the  *' images  of  movement.''     But  what  is 
grossly  apparent  to  the  senses  in  soliloquy  and  gesticula- 
tion is  constantly  occurring  and  at  every  separate  idea, 
only  that  it  occurs  in  a  very  slight  degree,  usually  not  per- 
ceptible to  the   senses   in  a  conscious  way.     Tlie   woitl 
we  have  in  our  minds,  we  form  in  fact  with  our  organs  of 
speech ;  the  movement  we  are  imagining,  is  executed  in 
fact  by  the  proper  muscles,  iu  a  manner  which  indicates 
it   at   least.        And  as  it  is  a  fact  tliat  we  only  think  in 
woitls  and  other  inifigcs  of  inovtuu'iit,  I  can  assert  that 
we   actually   do  utter  all    our  thoughts   in    wonls   and 
gestures.     Of  eouree,  as  a  rule,  this  unconscious  solilo- 
', p,y,  this   unintentional   byplay  of  speech  anil  gestures 
is  not  heard  and  is  not  seen.     But  it  would  lie  noticed  at 
once  if  our  senses  were  either  sufficiently  acute,  or  if  we  had 
instruments  similar  to  the  microscope  and  the  microphone 
which  would  make  the  most  iufmitesimal  movements  of 
the  muscles  of  the  apparatus  of  speech,  of  the  limbs,  face, 
etc.,  distinctly  visible  and  audible.     But  who  can  assert 
that  our  senses,  of  at  least  I  he  senses  of  some  exception- 


UNCONSCIOITS    SITGGESTTON. 


215 


ally  constituted  individuals,  do  not  apprehend  these  slight- 
est of  all  movements?  We  do  not  become  conscious  of  it, 
of  course,  but  this  is  no  proof  that  it  is  not  the  case  in 
reality.  For  we  know  by  experience  that  an  impression 
on  the  senses  must  be  of  a  certain  degree  of  strength  in 
order  to  be  transmitted  from  the  centre  of  perception  to 
the  consciousness,  and  that  even  quite  powerful  sense- 
impressions  remain  unnoticed  by  the  consciousness,  when 
its  attention  is  not  especially  attracted  to  them,  but  that 
these  sense-impressions,  (overlooked  by  the  consciousness 
owing  to  its  being  insufficiently  aroused,  or  inattentive,) 
do  nevertheless  occur,  and  are  manipulated  automatically 
by  the  brain,  outside  of  the  consciousness,  in  the  emotional 
way.  And  hence  it  is  not  merely  possible,  but  also  very 
probable,  that  our  minds  are  perpetually  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  minds  of  others.  Unnoticed  b}'  the  conscious- 
ness, but  perceived  by  the  brain-centres,  all  our  human 
surroundings  far  and  near,  are  talking  to  and  gesticulating 
at  us,  millions  upon  millions  of  faint  whispers  and  slight 
gestures  are  crowding  upon  us,  and  in  the  confused  medley 
we  are  literally  unable  to  hear  our  own  voice,  unless  it  is 
powerful  enough  to  drown  the  tumult  around  us.  The 
consciousness  of  all  other  human  beings  is  operating  upon 
our  consciousness,  the  molecular  motion  of  all  other  brains 
is  being  communicated  to  our  brain,  and  it  accepts  their 
rhythm  if  it  has  not  a  more  energetic  rhythm  of  its  own  to 
opiX)se  to  it,  although  even  a  more  energetic  rhythm  is 
likely  to  be  modified  by  the  rhythms  swarming  upon  it, 
if  it  does  not  accommodate  itself  entirely  to  them. 

This  would  be  unconscious  suggestion.  We  will  now 
leave  it  and  return  to  conscious  suggestion,  which  may 
not  be  the  most  important,  but  which  we  are  able  to 
comprehend  and  define  with  more  certainty.  It  is  pro- 
duced by  all  the  different  manifestations  in  which  the  dif- 


216 


SrHflKSTION. 


ferent  states  of  the  consciousness  find  expression,  most 
frequently  by  spoken  words,  but  often   also  by  motions 
which  can  be  observed.      The    thought   uttered   aloud, 
according  to  the  process  described  above,  will  arouse  \b' 
same  thought  in  the  brain  of  the  reader  or  hearer,  the 
completed  action  will  incite  the  same  action  in  the  will  of 
the  spectator.     None  but  the  minority  of  original  lyings, 
the  men  of  genius,  will  l)c  able  to  resist  this  influence  en- 
tirely    All  education,  all  training  is  suggestion.     The  still 
undeveloped  brain  of  the  child  shapes  itself  accoixlmg  to 
the  molecular  motion  tommuiiicatwl  to  it  by  the  parents 
and  teachers.     It  is  by  means  of  suggestion  that  the  exam- 
ple of  morality  as  well  as  of  depravity  pixxluces  its  eflect 
The  mass  of  people  perform  acU  of  love  or  of  hatred  of 
refinement  or  of  vulgaiity,  of  humanity  or  of  testiality, 
accortling  as  they  or  the  reverse  are  "suggeste.1"  to  them 
by  the  master-minds  of  the  i)eriod.     What  is  all  this  talk 
about  the    Foft«<«7f  or  the  national  character?     These 
a„.  wor.1s  without  any  meaning.     The  national  character 
is    something    different    in    evcrj-    age.      The   Mk-sool 
changes  from  day  to  day.     Are  examples  neeiled?     Here 
are  sevenil.     The  German  people  of  the  last  generation 
were    weakly   sentimental,   enthusiastically   romantic,    m 
short,  emotional.     In  the   present  generation  they  are 
.severelv  practical,  coolly  deliterate,  acting  rather  tiian  dis- 
cussing, calculating  rather  than  heedless,  in  short,  cogita. 
tional.     The  English  people  were  morally  corrupt  in  the 
first  third  of  this  centurj- ;  they  drank,   swore,  were  im- 
moral and  flaunted  their  vices  in  broail  daylight ;  nowa- 
days they  are  affecte<l,  virtuous  to  prudishness  and  respect- 
able to  the  last  degree ;  they  find  their  popular  ideals  in 
temperance  societies,  in  the  philanthropic  rescue  of  out. 
casts,  and  an  excess  of  devotion  ;  they  avoid  all  suggestive 
alhisions  in  convoisatiou  and  indelicate  conspicuousness 


"VOLKSSKKLK"  A\n  national  niAHACTER.    217 

ill  conduct  This  iitter  tniiisformiiUon  is  the  Avork  of  only 
tliirty  or  fifty  Inlet*  years.  How  is  it  possible  to  l)elieve 
iind  assert  thiit  ti  people's  ways  of  thinking  and  acting  are 
tlie  results  of  any  special  organic  characteristics?  Sucli 
characteristics  could  only  alter  in  the  course  of  ages.  Tiie 
whole  matter  is  something  entirely  different  from  what  the 
professional  psychologists  of  peoples  have  hitherto  as- 
serted. Suggestion  is  the  key  to  the  whole  matter.  The 
phenomenal  human  l)eings  in  a  people  -'suggest"  to  them 
what  we  call  the  Volkssrr/e  and  the  national  character, 
und  erroneously  accept  as  something  enduring  and  un- 
changeable, while  it  is  perpetually  undergoing  moditica- 
tions  from  some  isolated  intellects.  We  must  imagine  the 
lirocess  as  a  small  group  of  exceptional  men  standing  in 
front  of  a  i)eople  or  even  of  a  race,  as  Dumontpallier 
stands  in  front  of  a  hypnotized  hysterical  jmtient,  suggest- 
ing thoughts,  sentiments  and  actions  to  the  people  or  the 
race,  which  without  resistance  or  criticism,  thinks,  feels  and 
acts  according  to  them  as  if  impelled  thereto  by  its  own 
consciousness.  If  these  exceptional  beings  suggest  virtue 
and  heroism,  the  world  beholds  a  nation  of  Knights  of  the 
Holy  Grail  and  Winkelrieds ;  if  they  suggest  vice  and 
meanness,  history  has  to  relate  the  decline  and  fall  of 
another  Bvzantium.  Confucius  rears  a  nation  of  cowards, 
Napoleon  I,  of  warriors  and  victors.  The  genius  forms 
the  people  after  his  image,  and  those  who  wish  to  study 
the  folk-soul  will  find  it  not  in  the  masses,  l)ut  in  the 
brains  of  the  leaders.  A  larger  or  smaller  degree  of 
force,  however,  is  always  organically  represented  in  a 
people.  It  is  true,  all  its  thinking  and  acting  is  suggested 
to  it,  but  if  it  is  a  strong  people  it  will  obey  the  suggestion 
intensively,  while  if  it  is  feeble,  it  will  obey  it  but  feebly. 
The  difference  is  like  that  between  the  steam  engine  of 
1000  and  that  of  1  horsepower.     There  is  the  same  con- 


218 


SUaOBSTlON. 


struction,  the  same  motive  forces,  the  same  shape;   b.^t 
the  one  Amoves  mountains,  ami  the  other  vunsas-ug^ 
machine.     And  thus  one  ijeopic  is  imgl-tv  >•>  ^"    '^  •'»" 
vice,  while  another  is  insij,miUc:tut  in  g..Hl  "«"«"»«»» 
evil ;  the  one  people  places  great,  the  'f  "•^'"f /JX"^;! 
the  disposal  of  its  men  of  gemus.     But  "-*  j'^^''  ^ 
determines  the  way  in  which  th.s  o.-gauu-  iK>we.  .s  to  .k. 
;.p„lie<l  is  the  suggestion  that  these  exceptional  '•«'»g>"^^■ 
ert  u,K.n  the  masses.    Consequently  let  us  not  s,)euk  ol  a 
foSul  but.  at  the  utmost,  of  a  folk-bo.Iy.  u  folk-hs  , 
1  folk-Stomach.     On   the  other   hand    1   behcve  ^ 

that  it  is  organically   inhe.-ent  m  a  P^'*;.  ««,,,r^  r. 
mcn  of  genius  with  greater  or  less  ftequencj  ,  «"«'  '•"^ 
Ter,  is  a  subject  which  I  will  discuss  m  one  of  the 

following  uliapters. 

The  uniformity  in  ideas  and  sentiments  p.-evad.ng  ni 

„  people,  is  thus  not  U>  be  explaine.1  by  ^  "'^=^';;;;.""  J^-J^ 
ity,  but  by  the  suggestion  exe.ted  u,K,n  all  ^J-'"  -  '-^"J 
a  people  by  the  same  historical  examples,  the  same  lumg 
chiefs  of  the  nation,  and  the  same  literature.    In  this  way 
the  citizens  of  large  towns  come  to  have  the  same  mental 
physiognomy,  although  as  a  rule  they  have  the  most  van^ 
ous  origins,  and  arc  of  the  most  d.vei-se  races.     A  citizen 
of  BerL,  ;f  Paris,  of  London,  has  cerUiin  psyeholc^ical 
nualilies  that  distinguish  him  from  all  other  individuals 
Li-n  to  his  city.    Can  these  qualities  be  founde.1  upon 
rig  organic  in  him?    Impossible!    For  the  popula. 
S  of  Lh  of  these  cities  is  a  mixture  of  «-  most  v^ed 
ethnological  elements.    But  they  are  all  under  he  .nBuence 
of  Uie  same  suggestion,  and  therefore  necessanly  rcn  ea  the 
uniformity  in  thought  and  action  which  ^"racts  the  »tu,»- 
tion  of  all  observers.     Aberrations  in  taste  and  manner 
moral  epidemics,  tides  of  hatred  or  in^P'"**'"-  "'»'='»  * 
certain  times  sweep  whole  nations  along  with  them,  first 

"hi. 


NEW  WINE  IN  OLD  BOTTLES. 


219 


become  comprehensible  by  the  knowledge  of  the  facts  of 
suggestion. 

We  have  seen  that  the  principal  means  for  the  trans- 
mission of  ideas  from  one  consciousness  to  another  is 
language.  But  words  are  only  con\'entional  s3'mbols  of 
states  of  the  consciousness,  and  herein  lies  a  great  and 
sometimes  insuperable  difRculty  to  the  promulgation  of 
entirely  novel  ideas.  A  genius  evolves  some  idea  in  his 
consciousness  which  has  never  been  evolved  in  any  other 
brain  before.  How  will  he  endeavor  to  express  this  new 
and  original  state  of  his  consciousness  so  as  to  make  it 
cognizaljle  by  the  senses  of  others.  Of  course  l)y  words. 
But  the  meaning  of  words  has  been  established  by  agree- 
ment. They  represent  stutes  of  the  consciousness,  which 
have  been  known  before.  They  arouse  in  the  hearer 
merely  the  old  idea  always  associated  with  them.  If  the 
hearer  or  the  reader  is  to  accept  a  word  as  the  symbol, 
not  of  the  idea  of  which  it  has  hitherto  been  the  exjionent, 
but  of  another  idea,  altogether  unknown  as  yet,  a  new  con- 
ventional agreement  has  to  be  made  for  it,  the  genius  must 
endeavor  to  explain  his  new  conception  in  other  ways,  by 
referring  to  the  similarities  and  the  differences  which  ex- 
ist between  the  new  idea  and  the  one  to  which  it  has  been 
applied  hitherto.  This  can  only  be  done  approximately, 
seldom  or  never  completely.  Our  language  bears  tlie  traces 
of  these  efforts  on  the  part  of  the  exceptional  men  of  orig- 
inal thought  to  transfer  novel  ideas  to  the  brains  of  the 
masses  by  means  of  the  old  S3mbols,  in  almost  every  word. 
in  almost  every  turn  of  expression.  All  figurative  languiigc 
is  due  to  this  cause.  When  the  same  word — like  the  Ger- 
man Muiiie — first  signifies  remembrance  and  then  love,  it 
reveals  the  mental  labor  of  some  original  genius,  who  in 
order  to  express  a  new  idea,  the  idea  of  self-sacrificing, 
loyal  tenderness,  had  to  make  use  of  some  term  which  u^j 


Si:(,i(,JEST10'N. 

to  that  time  had  l«en  used  .nc.cly  to  express  some  other 
less  subtle,  but  at  the  same  time  sui-erlicially  relate,!  ul.n. 
the  i.lea  <.f  simple  remembranee.     Each  genius  by  r.ght 
shoul.l   have  a  new  and  individual  language  to  convey 
his  „. , vel  ideas  con-ectly  to  others.     He  is  obliged  howe^•er, 
to  make  use  of  the  language  already  existent,  tluit  .s  the 
smbols  of  previous  states  of  the  c.nse.ousuess  of  othci  u- 
dividuals,  and  hence  eonfusiou  often  arises  as  1»«  ™^'""^  ""^^ 
wonls  to  have  another  significance  than  that  attnbule<l  to 
them  bv  the  hearer,  for  whom  they  can  only  have  the  con- 
venMonal  meaning  for  the  present.     The  gen.us  m.gh   te 
cmipared  in  fact  to  a  man  inuring  new  wme  mto  «  d  IwU 
ties,  wilh  the  distressing  circuu.slance  added,  tl^^l    '>'•''"'• 
to  whom  the  bottle  is  delivered  has  to  ]udge  of  the  wme 
merely  from  the  looks  of  the  bottle,  being  luiable  to  open 

it  ami  taste  of  its  contents.  „  ,♦  ;t  i» 

The  nature  of  all  languag.%  the  e.rcumstanee  that  .t  is 
formed  of  symbols  of  old  and  oldest  i.leas,  and  that  it  has 
,„  .,ive  a  figurative  significance  to  its  word-roots,  to  enable 
ihJJn  to  serve,  as  Ix^st  they  may,  for  designations  .lcscr>i.^ 
live  of  new   states  of  the   consciousness,   is  a  i)owcrtul 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  genius  when  he  tries  to  comnuv- 
nieate   his   thoughts  to  the  brains  of   the  masses.     The 
latter  are   inclined  of   necessity  to  conf..und  the   noNtl 
figurative  significance  of  the  wortl-deepened  in  sense  and 
am,licd  in  an  original  way,  as  it  is  by  the  gcmus-w.th  its 
„li  and  literal  meaning.     The  old  and  oldest  ideas  live  on 
in  the  midst  of  the  new  ones,  to  disturb  and  contuse  them 
the  masses,  when  the  axis  of  the  earth  is  i-efen-ed  to,  think 
of  something  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  the  axe-tree 
in  a  cart,  and  when  the  electric  current  is  mentioned,  of  a 

fluid  running  through  the  "^-^'^ -' '^/''^^  'J^^^'Z 
though  a  lead  pipe,  and  often  when  the  g-'  -  J'- 
meant  to  iUustrate  an  idea  by  a  word,  it  kis  only  served  to 


THE   IDEA   AND   THE   WORD. 


221 


render  it  still  more  obscure,  tuid  instead  of  arousing  his 
own  ideas  in  the  other  mind,  he  has  only  succeeded  in  arous- 
ing some  diametrically  opposed  to  them.     But  this  is  all 
nothing  but  one  more  of  the  limitations  of  humanity  which 
it  is  beyond  our  power  to  alter.     Perhaps  in  time  our  organ- 
ism may  develope  onward  so  far  that  the  states  of  the  con- 
sciousness may  not  require  conventional  symbols  to  ex- 
press them,  but  will  be  able  to  manifest  themselves  directly. 
In   this  case  the   original   brain   will   no   longer  require 
words   to   communicate    its    molecular    motion   to  other 
brains ;  merely  to  think  an  idea  clearly  and  definitely  may 
possibly  be  all  that  is  necessary  to  cause  it  to  lie  diffused 
through  space  like  light  or  electricity  and  "suggest"  it  in 
others,  and  we  will  no  longer  be  obliged  to  clothe  it  in  the 
old  patched  rags  of  a  language,  which  compels  us,  for  ex- 
ample, to  express  the  idea  of  an  All  of  which  we  are  a  part, 
by  the  word  nature,  which  meant  originally  one  that  bears 
young,  and   thus   arouses   in   our   minds   the   idea  of   a 
mother,  with  all  the  attributes  of  the  female  of  the  mam- 
malian type.     But  until  we  shall  have  attained  to  this 
mythical  perfc^ction,  we  must  content  ourselves  with  lan- 
guage, and  only  strive  honestly  to  comprehend  each  other's 
ideas  as  far  as  this  may  be  possible. 


GRATITUDE- 


The  English  satirist  defined  gratitude  as  ^'a  lively 
sense  of  future  favors."     He  merely  meant  to  be  facetious, 
and  gave  in  reality  an  exhaustive  definition  of  the  essence 
of  this  sentiment.     In  all  nomal  and  naturally  feeling  indi- 
viduals gratitude  is  based  upon  a  distinct  or  vague  expec- 
tation of  further  agreeable  actions.     If  it  is  positively 
impossible  to  hope  for  any  continuation  or  repetition  of 
llie  benefit,  then  all  sense  of  obligation  to  the  benefoctor 
ceases  entirely,  or  if  it  does  still  feebly  survive,  it  is  only 
in  consequence  of  organic  habit  or,  in  accordance  with  our 
code  of  morals,  of  the  artificial  repression  of  the  natural 
processes  occuring  within  us  for  the  gradual  re-establish- 
ment  of  a  normal  state  of  sentiment     I  believe  with  the 
evolutionists,  with  Darwin,  Spencer  and  Bain,  that  all  hu- 
man sentiments  had  their  origin  in  their  necessity  or 
their  usefulness  in  the  preservation  of  the  individual  and 
of  the  race.    We  experience  love,  for  instance,  at  the 
present    day  as  agreeable,  disapproval   of  our    actions 
by  public  opinion,  as  disagreeable.     This  is  easily  ex- 
plained  by  the  theory  of  evolution.     If  one  primitive 
man  experienced  agreeable  sensations  through  love,  while 
it  aroused  no  sensations  of  the  kind  in  the  organism 
of  another  man,  his  companion,  the  former  would  make 
every  effort  to  obtain  these  sensations,  while  the  latter 
would  hardly  have  taken  any  trouble  to  procure  tliem. 
The  former  would  leave  many,  the  latter  few  or  no  de- 


GRATITUDE  NOT  A  NATURAL  SENTLMENT. 


223 


scendants  behind  him.  Tlie  organic  characteristics  of  the 
fal  hers  are  repeated  in  the  offspring ;  those  who  long  for 
love  become  more  and  more  numerous,  those  indifferent  to 
love,  less  and  less  in  numl)er,  and  finally  become  entirely 
extinct,  so  that  in  time  none  survive  but  those  in  whom 
love  is  associated  with  agreeable  sensations.  In  the  same 
way,  of  two  primitive  men,  tlie  one  who  was  indifferent  to 
the  opinion  of  his  companions  in  the  tribe  would  easily 
eonnnit  actions  which  might  annoy  or  injure  the  rest; 
they  would  not  endure  this  very  long  and  would  speedily 
procure  less  favorable  conditions  of  existence  for  him  by  ex- 
pelling him  from  their  number,  or  cut  the  matter  short  by 
killing  him ;  the  other  man,  on  the  contrary,  wiio  was  con- 
tinually observant  of  the  effect  of  his  actions  upon  his 
neighbors,  would  get  along  well  in  the  tribe,  receive  assist- 
ance and  protection  from  tlie  rest,  and  tlus  be  able  to  live 
more  comfortably  and  securely,  and  rear  more  offspring,  to 
whom  he  would  bequeathe  his  organic  characteristics, 
until  among  the  human  beings  of  the  present  day  we  find 
no  one  in  whom  the  idea  of  being  at  variance  with  public 
opinion  does  not  arouse  a  feeling  of  uneasiness  sutRciently 
strong  to  cause  them  to  refrain  from  actions  which  might 
arouse  the  hoslility  of  public  opinion.  But  is  gratitude  an 
instinct  which  is  susceptible  of  being  explained  by  the  prin- 
ciples of  evolution?  By  no  means.  Gratitude  is  s(jmething 
that  could  never  have  been  useful  to  primitive  man;  it 
could  never  have  obtained  any  more  favorable  conditions 
of  existence  for  him.  He  was  not  benefited  by  this  senti- 
ment in  any  way,  and  the  lack  of  it  could  not  have  entailed 
any  disadvantages  upon  him.  If  we  examine  the  subject 
closely  we  will  even  find  that  an  individual  endowed  with  a 
disposition  to  gratitude  would  be  worse  off  tlian  those  who 
were  free  from  it ;  for  while  the  former  was  wasting  his  time 
with  attentions  and  his  strength  with  actions  which  could 


224 


GRATITUDE. 


not  Iw  of  any  coiit'eivahlc  iuhiuitagcj  tx)  him,  the  latter  was 
employing  his  time  luitl  strength  for  his  own  profit.    Hence 
gratitude  is  not  and  never  was  necessary  to  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  individnal  and  of  the  raee  in  any  case,  except 
when  the  sentiment  is  prompted  by  selfishness  and  self- 
interest  and  has  for  its  object  to  persnadt.'  I  lie  bene  (actor, 
by  deference  and  flattery,  to  bestow  still  further  benefits, 
and  for  this  reason  it  could  never  have  become  an  in- 
stinct in  man.     How  then  do  we  explain  the  fact  tliat 
gratitude  is  nevertheless  the  foundation  of  all  our  human 
ideas  of  religion,  that  man  iirnised  the  gods  for  the  gifts 
tliey  showered  npon  mankind,  that  he  manifested   liis 
appreciation  of  them  with  sacrifices,  and  that  he  held  the 
dead  in  grateful  reverence,  his  own  progenitors  as  well  as 
the  heroes  of  the  tribe?     Simply  by  the  gross  eiTors  of  an 
ignorant  mind.     Men  considered  the  gods,  the  dead  ances- 
tors and  the  heroes,  living  beings  who  had  still  the  ^Mjwer 
to  benefit  them,  and  their  sentiments  of  tender  devotion, 
their  sacrifices  and  forms  of  worsliip  were  not  manifes- 
tations of  gratitude  for  past  favors  but  urgent  invitations 
to  bestow  still  further  ones  in  the  future.     Even  at  the 
present  day  the  superstitious  fundamental  principle  of  the 
existence  of  a  personal  God,  endowed  with  the  attriliutcs 
of  humanity,  and  of  the  continuance  of  the  individual  after 
death,  still  prevails  in  many  minds,  and  is  the  cause;  now 
and  then— not  very  frwpiently,  it  is  true— of  manifestations 
of  gratitude  for  past  benefits.     In  tlie  far  distant  future 
when  this  snpei-stition  which  lias  liecome  organic  in  the 
habits  of   thonglit  which    have    prevailed    for   hundred 
thousands  of  years,  has  vanished,  the  very  last  trace  of 
hero-worship  in  its  present  tbrm  will  have  vanished  also. 
Perhaps  even  then  monuments  will  be  erectei!  to  the  mem- 
ory of  great  men,  their  graves  may  he  kept  sacred  and 
their  birthdays  celebrated,  but  no  longer  with  the  idea  of 


THE  MOOR  HAS  DONE  HIS  DUTY. 


225 


doing  them  a  favor,  of  acquitting  a  debt  to  them,  of  doing 
an3-thing  in  acknowledgment  of  benefits  received,  but  ex- 
clusivel}'  with  the  object  of  training  the  people,  with  the 
purpose  of  causing  the  figure  of  the  hero  thus  honored  to 
operate  as  a  suggestion  upon  the  masses  and  to  stimulate 
an  imitation  of  his  virtues,  and  because  society  will  always 
experience  tlie  need  of  promulgating  in  ideal  figures  those 
qualities  which  it  must  exact  of  its  members  in  the  interests 
of  its  own  self-preservation. 

For  there  to  be  any  sense  or  object  in  gratitude  for 
any  act,  it  should  be  manifested  before  the  completion  of 
the  act.  Then  it  might  have  some  influence  on  the  act 
itself,  its  nature  and  scope.  But  of  what  possible  use 
is  it  when  the  act  is  once  performed?  What  can  it  change 
in  it  then,  how  can  it  make  it  anv  better  or  worse?  When 
the  Moor  has  done  his  duty  there  is  nothing  left  for  him  to 
do  but  to  go,  and  if  he  complains,  an}'  one  who  has  time 
for  such  a  superfluous  task,  can  give  him  a  lecture  on  the 
subject  of  the  laws  of  nature  and  explain  to  him  that  tlie 
present  and  the  future  have  no  influence  upon  the  past, 
and  tiiat  an  objective  act  remains  to  all  eternity  just  what 
it  is,  whether  the  Moor  who  performed  the  act  makes  a 
wry  face  or  wears  a  pleased  expression  afterwards.  There 
is  no  need  to  urge  that  the  example  of  gratitude  or  of  in- 
gratitude, although  it  may  not  be  able  to  have  an}'  influ- 
ence over  the  action  of  which  it  is  the  cause,  may  yet  aflect 
decisively  future  actions ;  that  the  reward  of  veneration 
paid  to  some  predecessor  may  incite  his  successor  to  fol- 
low in  his  footsteps,  that  the  spectacle  of  ingratitude  to  the 
dead  may  cause  their  descendants  to  refrain  from  making 
efforts  of  an  altruistic  nature,  which  otherwise  they  might 
have  attempted.  This  is  not  the  case  at  all.  The  genius 
performs  his  benefits  for  mankind  because  he  is  obliged 
to  do  so  and  can  not  do  otherwise.     It  is  an  instinct 


aS2Sl# 


OEATITUBl. 


organically  inherent  in  him,  which  he  is  obeying.     He 
would  suffer  if  he  did  not  obey  its  impulse.     That  the 
average  masses  will  lienefit  by  it,  does  not  decide  the  mat- 
ter for  him.     The  stream  dashes  on  its  way  because  the 
laws  of  liydraulics  require  it  thus.     But  it  is  l\v  no  means 
essential  to  the  streaui  whether  there  arc  or  are  not  any 
mills  along  its  banks,  which  obtain  their  motive  power 
from  it.     Tlie  picture  of  Seipio  seated  araid  the  ruins  of 
Carthage  has  never  evolved  an  Ephialtes  out  of  any  possi- 
ble sinior  of  his  country  in  embryo,  tliough  the  idea  of  an 
old  man  cowering  in  a  draught  between  some  l»rokeii  stones 
with  sharp  angles,  who  would  i>roliably  stumlile  over  piles 
of  rubbish  or  fall  down  some  eelhu'-way,  if  he  attempted 
to  go  forward,  will  always  have  a  deterring  effect  upon  any 
om,  unless  it  might  be  some  member  of  a  voluntary  fire 
alarm  company.     And  T  call  upon  the  publishers  of  Ger- 
many  to  witness  whether  tlie  remembnuice  of  Camoens, 
whom   his  ungrateful  countrymen   allowed  to  perish  of 
privation  aiid  want,  has  dimieisheil  to  any  appreciable  ex- 
tent tlie  pnMluctiou  of  poetij  ! 

Tlie  reader  has  already  discerned  that  the  gratitude  of 
one  individual  to  another  is  excluded  from  the  present  dis- 
cussion because  it  can  not  he  considered  as  an  instance  of 
^uiselfisli  sentiment,  hoping  for  no  t\u'ther  reward,  and  of 
no  possilile  advantage  to  the  grateful  being  but  only  to  the 
recipient  of  it;  we  must  consider  it  as  a  more  or  less  wise 
investment  of  capital  from  which  the  investor  hopes  to  re- 
ceive fair  returns,  and  hence,  as  something  not  pertaining 
to  the  domain  of  moral  philosophy,  but  to  tliat  of  business. 
The  gratitude  of  the  i^eople  in  genend  to  some  one  individ- 
ual wliom  they  do  not  know  pereonally,  from  whom  they  per- 
sonally have*  nothing  to  expect,  who  may  lie  already  num- 
Ijered  among  the  dead,  this  alone  would  lie  an  instance  of 
giich  grutitude.    But  we  would  seek  in  vain  through  the 


POSTHUMOUS   FAME. 


227 


whole  history  of  mankind  for  even  one  such  example  sus- 
ceptible of  proof  as  a  perfect  example  of  this,  which  could 
not  be  traced  to  national  vanity  or  superstition  or  to  some 
other  interested  motive. 

No,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  gratitude  of  the  masses, 
of  the  people,  or  of  mankind  in  general,  and  can  not  be, 
because  it  has  no  anthropological  foundation.     The  men 
of   genius,  the   work  of  whose   brain  supports  the  race, 
who  accomplish  in  themseh'es  all  the  progress  the  race 
make,  who   represent   the   impetus   to   all   new   develop- 
ment, should  abandon   all   idea   of  thanks.     They  must 
find  their  sole  reward  in  the  fact  that,  thinking,  acting, 
originating,  they  live  out  their  higher  qualities,  and  thus 
become  conscious  of  their  originality,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of   powerful  sensations  of  pleasure.     There  is  no 
other  satisfaction  for  the  most  sublime  genius,  as  wt-ll  as 
the  lowest  living  being  swimming  in  its  nourishing  fluid, 
than  the  sensation,  as  intensive  as  possible,  of  its  own  Ego. 
The  genius  sometimes  flatters  himself  with  visions  of  im- 
mortality.    He  is  wrong.     Immortality,  which  Klopstock 
calls  a  "beautiful  thought,"  is  even  something  less  than  a 
beautiful  thought,  it  is  a  fantastic  picture  of  the  imagina- 
tion, a  shadow  of  one's  own  individuality  projected  into  the 
future,  resembling  the  shadow  of  a  tree  cast  far  across  the 
plain  by  the  setting  sun.     The  moment  the  tree  is  felled, 
its  shadow  vanishes  also.     The  idea  of  the  perpetuation  of 
one's  name,  the  effort  to  secure  posthumous  fiime,  proceed 
from  the  same  source  in  which  the  superstitious  belief 
in  a  personal  existence  after  death  had  its  rise.     It  is 
another  manifestation  of  the  resistance  of  the  living  indi- 
vidual to  the  cessation  of  his  consciousness,  one  foi-m  of 
the  impotent  struggle  against  the  universal  law  of  the 
finiteness  of  individual  existence,  one  more  proof  of  the 
inability  of  the  thinking,  and  consciously  perceiving  Ego 


99Q 

iHimI  md  ^J^ 


QRATITUBl. 


to  imagine  Itself  as  no  longer  thinking,  no  longer  per- 
ceiving its  own  existence.     The  man  who  has  created 
something  grand,  who  has  benefitetl  his  people,  or  all 
humanit3%  might  surely  connt  npon   that  feeblest   and 
cheaixist  form  of  gratitude  wliicli  consists  iu  the  perpetua- 
tion of  his  memoiy.     A' ain  wish  and  vain  efforts  1     The 
memorj'  of  the  human  race  is  unwilling  to  retain  the 
name  and   the  appearance  of  individuals,  and  even  to 
prolong     the    faint    reflection    of    their  i)ereonal  exist- 
ence lieyond  the  naturtd  limits  of  human  life.     How  long 
do  even  the  most  famous  names  last?    Up  to  the  present 
time  mankind  has  no  reeoitl  of  any  that  are  more  than  ten 
tlionsand  years  old,  and  what  are  ten  thousand  years  iu 
the  life  of  mankind,  to  say  nothing  of  the  life  of  our  planet 
or  of  our  solar  system !     Only  when  living  human  beings 
expect  to  realize  some  material  advantage  in  not  allowing 
the  memory  of  certain  persons  to  decay,  do  the  masses 
retain  a  clear  remembrance  of  them ;  as  in  the  case  of  the 
founders  of  religions  or  of  a  reigning  family ;  for  here  the 
priests  and  the  monarehs  have  an  interest  in  artificially 
restraining  the  people  from  obeying  their  deeply  seated, 
and  in  the  long  run  irresistible  instinct  of  ungrateful  for- 
getf ulness.    But  where  there  Is  no  such  interest  at  work, 
mankind  hastens  to  forget  the  dead,  even  when  they  hiU'(^ 
been  its  greatest  benefactors.     It  is  truly  pathetic  to  ol>- 
ser^e  the  despairing  efforts  made  by  the  individual  to  with- 
draw his  individual  form  from  tlie  operation  of  the  law  of 
annihilation.    He  piles  enormous  stoues  into  gigantic  monu- 
mental edifices,  he  compels  bronze  to  retain  his  lineaments, 
he  writes  his  name  on  every  page  in  books,  he  engraves  it 
in  marble  and  bronze,  he  associates  it  with  endowments, 
streets  and  cities.     The  palaces  and  the  statues,  the  liooks 
and  the  inscriptions  are  to  proclaim  this  one  name  in  the 
ears  of  the  hnman  beings  of  the  remotest  ages,  and  remind 


MONUMENTS   FAIL   TO  PERFORM   THEIR  TUTTY.         229 

them  that  once  it  was  borne  by  a  great  man  and  that  this 
trreat  man  has  won  the  right  to  tlie  grateful  reverence  of 
nil  posterity.     The  inanimate  objects  to  which  the  individ- 
ual confides  the  task  of  perpetuating  his  memory  do  not  per- 
form this  duty  long.     Even  when  they  escape  destruction, 
they  lose  their  voice  and  soon  cease  to  proclaim  the  name 
which  they  were  to  have  repeated  to  the  latest  generations. 
The  palace  serves  men  who  invent  some  arbitrary  legend 
to  account  for  its  origin ;   they  apply  to  the  statue  any 
name  they  choose ;  even  in  the  name  of  the  city,  the  name 
of  its  founder  is  obscured,  as  when  Constantinople  is  trans- 
formed into  Stamboul,  and  they  erase  unconcernedly  the 
traces  of  the  gi'eat  man,  as  an  unconscious  child  erases  the 
letters  on  a  slate  with  its  finger  in  its  play.     And  who 
would  rebuke  them  for  doing  so?     Only  those  who  have 
no  realization  of  the  plainest  phenomena  itud  conditions  of 
organic  life.     The  individual  is  of  no  value  except  to  him- 
self; he  is  of  no  value  to  nature,  of  none  to  the  totality, 
in  the  eves  of  nature  he  is  merely  a  mould  In  which  mat- 
ler  receives  its  organic  shape;  a  way-station  on  tlie  great 
litieof  development  of  matter  from  the  inanimate  to  the 
animate.     When  the  casting  is  finished  the  mould  is  de- 
stroyed.    When  the  way-station  is  once  passed,  it  is  speed- 
ily forgotten.     That  which  is  enduring  in  the"  individual 
and  which  is  destined  to  an  existence  without  any  apparent 
end,  his  propagating  principle,  extricates  itself  from  him 
and  enters  upon  another  new  and  independent  life  which 
has  no  longer  any  need  of  further  connection  with  the 
organism  in  which  it  was  evolved ;  the  parental  organism 
then  decays  like  the  blossom  from  which  the  fruit  has  been 
developed.  The  same  process  occurs  in  the  mental  functions 
of  the  individual.     They  detach  themselves  from  the  phys- 
ical being,  become  objective  and  form  phenomena  on  tlieir 
own  account,  and  it  is  by  no  means  necessary  for  the 


im 


GRATITUDE. 


perfection  of   tliese    plienoiBeoa    tliat    tliey   suggest    in 
,iiy  way  the  individual  wlio  originally  produced  them ; 
they  are  what  is  destined  to  endure  in  the  mental  indi- 
viduality like  the  propagating  principle  in  the  physical, 
;md  when  the  mind  has  impaited  its  best,  when  it  has 
prmluced    living    thoughts   and  aetions  which  continue 
to  operate  independently  and  are  able  to  evolve  new  life, 
it  is  not  unjust  that  the  mind  shares  the  fate  of  all  living 
and  life-giving  things  and  vanishes.     The  old  myth  of 
Saturn  devouring  his  own  children  is  founded  upon  a  mis- 
token  conception  of  nature.     It  is  not  the  father  who  eats 
up  his  offspring,  but  the  children  who  devour  tlicir  parents. 
This  instiince  of  intense,  utterly  regardless  selfishness  is 
not  shocking.     On  the  contrary.     It  is  terrible  and  beauti- 
fol  at  the  same  time  like  all  tlic  grand  phenomena  of 
nature.    The  offspring  in  rec^eiving  the  germ  of  life  from 
the  parent  and  carrying  it  on  farther  into  the  future,  thus 
renews  the  youth  of  the  parental  orgauism  in  so  far   as 
what  is  really  essentia!  in  It  is  concerned.     This  labor  of 
preserving  the  essential  taxes  tlie  energies  of  the  new 
organism  to  such  an  extent  that  it  lias  none  left  for  the 
preser\'ation  of  what  is  unessential,  that  is,  the  accidental 
individual  foim  of  life  of  the  parent. 

The  law  which  I  might  designate  as  the  revereed 
Saturnlau  law,  by  virtue  of  which  the  parent  sinks  Into 
obscurity  in  exact  pTO|)ortion  as  tlic  offspring  advances 
into  the  light,  admits  of  no  exceptions.  As  no  human 
being  exists  who  has  presen-ed  his  remote  ancestor  alive 
In  himself,  in  the  same  way  there  is  no  prcxluct  of  the 
human  intellect  that  has  ran  its  entire  course  accompanied 
by  the  one  that  originated  it.  How  much  do  we  know  (»f 
the  persons  to  whose  mentol  efforts  we  owe  our  entire  civ- 
ilization and  culture?  How  great  was  tlic  man  who  tii-st 
cave  us  fire?    Who  has  retoinet!  any  remembrance  of  him? 

'UUP 


THE  REVERSED  SATURNIAN  LAW. 


231 


Who  ever  thinks  of  remembering  him  with  gratitude  when 
he  is  basking  in  the  heat  of  his  stove  in  winter?  What  a 
o-enius  the  man  must  have  been  who  first  conceived  the 
idea  of  something  beyond  the  accident  of  happening  to  find 
plants,  and  of  systematically  exacting  the  necessary  grain 
from  the  soil !  Do  we  ever  invoke  a  blessing  upon  his 
niune  when  we  arc  enjoying  our  daily  bread?  At  the 
present  day  we  still  know  wlio  invented  the  telegraph,  tlie 
steam  cnoine,  the  railroad.  But  these  inventions  are  of 
vesterchn-.  Some  of  the  Innnan  beings  before  whose  eyes 
they  were  evolved  are  still  alive.  How  long  will  it  be 
l>eforo  the  (Jrahani  Bells  and  the  Edisons,  the  Papins, 
Watts  and  Stephensons,  are  forgotten  like  the  equally 
great  or  greater  inv(»ntors  of  the  artificial  production  of  fire 
or  of  agriculture,  who  are  now  unknown  ;  and  how  long  will 
it  be  before  mankind  will  use  its  telephones  and  express 
trains  like  its  fire  and  its  bread,  without  tlie  sliglitest  trilv 
ute  of  orateful  remembrance  to  its  benefactors?  And  the 
inventors  are  no  worse  off  than  the  thinkers,  the  conquer- 
ors, the  statesmen,  the  artists.  A  truth  is  discovered,  it  is 
and  remains  to  all  eternity  the  possession  of  mankind,  but 
after  a  few  generations  no  one  ever  devotes  a  single 
thought  to  the  one  who  discovered  it.  The  specialists 
still  know  to  whom  the  world  owes  the  separate  advances 
made  in  mathematics,  in  the  physical  sciences  and  astron- 
omy. But  how  many  are  there  even  among  the  educated 
and  highly  educated  who  would  be  able  to  define  the  per- 
sonal  share  that  Pythagoras  and  Euclid,  Hero  of  Alex- 
andria, and  Descartes,  Aristotle  and  Harvey,  and  even 
such  recent  fiiirures  as  Lamarck  and  Schwann  have  had  in 
the  formation  of  our  knowle<lge  of  nature  and  of  our  com- 
l)rehension  of  the  universe.  Who  were  the  individuals  that 
created  the  political  institutions  of  Rome,  the  main  features 
of  which  are  still  retained  in  our  methods  of  government  to 


;*■> 


OBATlfUBl. 

the  present  day?  Who  knows  the  names  of  those  lawgivers, 
(not  the  compilers,)  who  originated  the  decisions  m  the  R<> 
man  Code  of  laws,  which  still  govern  our  legal  procedures? 
The  work  still  stands,  but  the  originator  is  sunk  "^  o"^*!*^" 
km  or  lost  in  legend,    f  he  Iliad  is  still  read,  although 
it  is  true  chiefly  hv  wll«g<J  students,  who  do  not  enjoy  it 
over  iniich,  bu't  Homer  is  so  utterly  lost  to  ^^^  J^'^^^^''''' 
the  \erv  fact  of  his  existence  can  lie  denied.     Ihe  mimi- 
un-eu  legends  live  and  flourish,  but  their  autlior  is  swal- 
loi^.d  up  in  the  past.     We  know  as  little  who  created  the 
VenusorMlloas  tlie  name  of  the  sculptor  who  chiselled 

the  Apollo  Belvedere. 

It  is  in  vain  for  the  genius  of  the  present  day  to  think 
that  lienccforth  all  will  lie  diftertnit     Personal  ftiine  con- 
sists of  newspapers  and  books  a,Hl  carved  iuscnptions  on 
lironze  and  stone.     The  brnilh  of  lime  wafis  all  of  these 
awav  like  tlie  ashes  of  a  scrap  of  lairnt  i)t.per.     A  few 
thousand  brief  years  and  all  has  vmiished.     Biit  hmnamty 
has  still  perhaps  many  millions  of  yeai-s  tefore  .t.     Bis- 
marck will  share  the  Ikte  of  the  founders  of  states  in  the 
past,  Gcethe  and  SlMdvCspeare  will  sink  into  the  oblivion 
where  are  now  the  author  of  the  Book  of  Job  and  tlie  lum- 
strel  of  the  Vedas,  but  the  German  nation  will  develope 
eii^^htilv  onward,  and  Faust  and  Othello  will  arouse  pro- 
foimd  emotions  in  the  heart  of  man  as  long  as  Geiniaii  and 
Entylish  are  understood  upon  earth. 

"^  »*The  traces  cannot,  of  my  earthly  being,  in  «ons  i>er- 
ish-^they  are  there ! "  Faust  persuades  himself  with  consol- 
i„.  complacency.  He  is  right,  literally.  His  traces,  that 
is  what  lie  accomplishes,  will  not  soon  perish,  if  it  is  valua- 
ble But  he  is  wrong,  if  he  associates  with  the  i)erpetua- 
tion  of  his  traces,  the  idea  of  the  perpetuation  of  his 
individuality.  He  rescued  a  country  from  the  ocean? 
Very  well.  *  A  gay  and  busy  people  dwell  upon  it  and 


INDISPENSABILITY    NO    TEST   OF    VALUE. 


233 


rejoice  in  life  and  sunshine.  But  as  to  any  gnitiUi(k'  U>  tlie 
man  who  constructed  the  dike  and  procured  them  their 
fertile  fields,  there  is  none  of  it.  Gratitude  does  not  make 
the  harvest  any  more  abundant  nor  the  country  any  more 
nourishing ;  the  people  are  not  compelled  to  feel  grateful, 
and  therefore  they  do  not  feel  so. 

The  science  of  political  economy  has  established  the 
fact  that  the  value  of  things  to  man  depends  upon  the 
greater  or  less  facility  with  which  he  can  ol)tain  them,  and 
not  upon  tlie  degree  in  which  they  are  indispensable  to 
Mm.  Of  all  things  air  is  the  most  necessary  to  human 
beings;  but  it  has  no  value  because  he  can  procure  it  at 
all  times  without  effort,  because  lie  has  no  labor  to  per- 
form to  obtain  the  amount  of  air  he  requires  for  breathing. 
We  can  compare  the  productions  of  the  genius  in  this 
sense  to  those  things  which  have  no  valu2.  Once  com- 
l)leted,  once  I)ecome  objective,  they  become  a  part  of 
nature  itself,  and  are  like  the  air  we  breathe,  the  water  we 
can  procure  without  effort,  without  requital,  without 
thanks.  The  truth  that  some  one  man  has  discovered  and 
littered,  is  accessible  to  all  human  beings ;  in  the  poetical 
work  of  art  created  by  some  one  man  all  human  beings 
can  find  emotions  for  tliemselves  when  they  thirst  for  them ; 
the  invention,  the  political  and  social  institutioir  devised 
by  some  human  brain  and  realized  by  some  human  will,  all 
men  find  already  existing,  like  the  earth  upon  which  they 
live  and  move,  and  the  seasons  whose  changes  vary  the 
uniformity  of  time.  What  the  individual  needs  and  applies 
to  his  own  use  out  of  these  truths  and  beauties,  these  in- 
ventions and  institutions,  does  not  diminish  the  totid 
amount  in  the  least,  it  does  not  injure  them  nor  deprive 
another  of  them.  He  is  right  therefore  in  appropriating 
them  without  thanks  or  compensation. 

And  the  man  who  toils  for  the  masses  has  no  cause 


ORATITUBE. 

to  eomplaio  Of  their  ingratitude,  when  they  forget  Mm  in 
what  ll  has  aeeomplished,  when  his  contempora^  a 
posterity  emigrate  to  the  America  he  ^^^^'^J^;^^ 
do  not  ;etain  even  the  remembrance  of  the  Cohimbi  s  ot 
the  new  fostering  soil.    His  organism  produced  ;ts  c^^^^^^^ 
lie  ti  mother  gives  birth  to  a  child :  because  it  could  not 
retain  them,  was  obliged  to  thrust  them  forth  whent^ 
had  eome  to  maturity.     Besides  this,  each  genius  real  > 
finds  his  recompense  in  what  he  accomplishes ;  in  f^^^^^^^^ 
is  paid  in  advance  for  his  toil     For  he  has  tlie  benefit  c^ 
all  preceding  genius,  of  all  those  nameless  beings  who 
Lrthe  originators  of  all  our  civilization  and  knowledge-, 
of  all  our  conveniences  and  triumphs  over  nature.     I  e 
steps  upon  the  shoulders  of  his  pmlecessors.  and  M  isoni> 
fair  that  his  successors  should  step  upon  his  shoulders 
He  feels  no  other  gratitude  to  the  forgotten  guid^  a.d 
benefactors  of  humanity  than  to  appropriate  to  Ms  om 
nse  the  treasures  they  left  V^ehind  them,  and  he  ought  not 

!  f  f I.  .t  Ins  inheritors  will  be  grateful  to  him  in  any 

to  exiject  that  Ills  inucuioib  >^  lit       »        ...    ,      «„,ia  nf 

other  wax-  The  intellectual  treasures  which  he  finds  at 
his  disposal  and  ft-om  which  he  can  draw,  have  long  since 
ceased  to  bear  the  personal  signature  of  their  ongmaU,i 
.nd  why  should  he  not  console  himself  with  the  idea  that 
the  treiures  he  is  producing  himself,  will  .dso  l,ecomc.  m 
time,  without  any  tokens  of  their  origin,  the  inherited  pro  v 
erty  of  mankind  in  general,  and  increase  the  general  wealth . 


THE    IMPORT    OF    FICTION 


What  are  the  reciprocal  rel:itions  between  life  and  fic- 
tion? Is  our  light  literature  the  result  of  obserxation  of  ri'al 
life?  Or  does  not  real  lite  raUier  take  fiction  t'ov  its  model 
and  endeavor  to  become  like  it?  Which  is  the  original? 
AVhich  is  the  imitation?  Do  novels  and  plays  take  their 
eharaeters  from  the  streets?  Do  the  masses  form  them- 
selves after  the  types  portrayed  in  no\els  and  plays?  I  can 
reply  to  these  (piestions  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 
The  effect  of  fiction  upon  life  is  incomparably  greater  than 
the  reverse.  The  romancer  frequently  detaches  himself  en- 
tirely from  actual  tacts  and  devotes  his  iittention  exclu- 
sively to  the  arbitrary  play  of  his  imagination.  And  even 
when  he  takes  his  subject  from  real  lite,  he  does  not  con- 
fine himself  to  the  average  facts  and  truths,  which  a  con- 
scientious observer  would  deduce  from  the  usual  course  of 
every-day  life,  but  selects  some  exceptional  case  wHiich  may 
have  accidentally  IVillen  under  his  eyes,  or  have  made  an  es- 
pecial impression  upon  him,  owing  to  some  personal,  organic 
cause,  and.  finally,  he  does  not  portray  even  this  exceptional 
case  with  fidelity  to  nature,  but  transtbrms  it  to  suit  his 
own  characteristics.  This  is  therefore  the  sole  and  entire 
point  of  conta{!t  between  real  life  and  fiction.  It  is  less  in 
width  than  the  back  of  a  knife.  A  flake  of  foam  carried 
away  by  some  frolicsome  gust  of  wind,  shimmering  in 
strange  colors,  is  all  that  represents  the  vast  and  deep  ocean 
of  life  in  romance.     If,  therefore,  life  has  really  enough 


— ■■"" ..-ia.lMlfcM.JdaL-uy .LdlULJI 


iiUtjO 


THE   13IP0BT  OF  FICTION. 


iiifliient*  upon  romaiiee  to  even  deserve  mention,  it  is  no 
more  tliim  tliiit  exerted  iiiJon  t)ur  di-eaiiis  by  realities, 
whieh  are  likewise  partially  due  to  some  very  feeble  im- 
pressions on  the  senses,  wliieli  they  transform  arbitrarily 
and  immeasurably  into  ideas  the  most  foreign  to  the 
tnitli.  On  tlie  oilier  hand,  the  influence  of  fiction  upon  life 
is  enormous.  It  exerts  a  powerful  and  incessant  sugges- 
tion ui»n  the  reader  to  which  the  whole  of  his  mental 
iwrsonality  and  all  his  tliouglits  and  actions  succumb. 

Let  us  consider  the  conditions  of  existence  among 
the  average  masses.     The  average  individual  passes  his 
life  in  the  most  circiunscrilied  conditions.     He  does  not 
become  lUMiuainted  with  many  im'sons  outside  of  his  own 
family  circle,  and  seldom  or  never  has  he  an  opijortunity 
to  cast  a  glance  into  the  inner  life  of  another's  mind.     He 
knows  nothing  of  the  gi'cat  passions  and  sentiments,  the 
perplexities  and  dissensions  of  mankind,  and,  frem  his 
own  intuition,  and  if  restricted  to  his  own  personal  exi)eri- 
ence,  would  hardly  surmise  that  outside  of  his  dining 
room  and  his  shop,  there  was  another  world  beyond  the 
church,  the  market  and  the  city  hall    But  he  reads  novels, 
he  attends  the  theatre,  and  he  sees  figures  such  as  have 
never  entered  into  liis  actual  life :  fairy  princes  and  ele- 
gant ladies  witli  diamond  stare  in  their  hair,  adventurers 
and  villains,  angelic  beings  of  light  and  unscrupulous  m- 
trio'uers;  he  sees  strange  situations  such  as  liave  never 
oceuiTed  t*>  him,  and  learns  how  the  romancer  s  imaguiary 
figures  think,  feel  and  act  in  these  situations.     It  is  inevit. 
able,  according  to  all  the  laws  of  psychology,  that  the 
individual  who  is  unable  to  limit  or  correct  the  romancer  s 
assertions,  which  come  to  him  in  the  form  of  iK)sitive 
affirmations,  will  believe  them  without  a  shade  of  distrust, 
and  obtain  his  ideas  of  life  from  the  romancer's  works, 
take  the  latter's  fictionary  beings  for  his  models,  and  adopt 


THE   ORIGIN   OF   FEMALE   TYPES. 


237 


his  judgments,  his  likes  and  disliivcs.     Like  all  kinds  of 
suggestion,  that  exerted  by  novels  and  plays  has  more 
effect  upon  those  individuals  who  are  mentally  less  devel- 
oped  or  less  healthy,  than  upon  those  who  are  more  power- 
All,  original  or  entirely  normal  in  every  respect;   above 
all,  upon  the  stereotyped  natures,  young  people,  women, 
hysterical  persons  and  those  with  weak  minds  or  nerves. 
This  has  come  under  my  direct  observation  in  Paris  for 
many  years.     The  Pansiritue  is  completely  the  wxjrk  of  the 
French  journalists  and  novelists.     They  make  her  literally 
just  what  they  want  her  to.be,  both  physically  and  men- 
tally.    She  talks,  she  thinks,  she  feels,  she  acts,  she  even 
dresses,   carries    lierself,   walks   and   stands   just   as   the 
fashionable  writers  of  the  da}'  decree  that  she  should.    She 
is  a  puppet  in  their  hands  and  involuntarily  obeys  all  their 
directions.     Some  depraved  fellow  with  a  repulsively  cor- 
rupt taste  describes  his  ideal  of  woman  in  some  newspaper 
or  book,  just  as  he  has  hatched  it  in  the  foul  atmosphere 
of  his   degenerate    imagination:    with   tripping  gait,  her 
voice  a  falsetto  like  a  childs,  her  eyes  wide  open,  and  her 
little  finger  crooked  while  she  is  eating,  so  that  it  rises  in 
the  air  above  the  rest.     All  his  feminine  readers  begin  at 
once  to  realize  this  ideal  and  we  see  only  little  mimics 
around  us,  tripping  along  with  tiny  steps,  piping  in  a  shrill 
little  voice,  drawing  up  their  eyebrows  to  the  middle  of 
their  foreheads,  spreading  their  little  finger  away  from  the 
rest  of  their  hand  as  it*  it  had  the  cramp,  and  making 
themselves  unspeakably  disgusting  to  every  healthy  taste 
with  all  this  imitation  of  childlike  artlessness.     At  the 
same  time  this  is  not  even  conscious  and  intentional  affecta- 
tion, but  automatic  habit  that  has  become  second  nature. 
Some  other  satyr  of  the  pen  whose  dull  senses  are  tickled 
into  wakefulness  by  some  other  idea  than  that  of  a  female 
creature  in  infancy,  revels  in  the  description  of  the  small 


Zoo 


THB  IM,PORT  OF  FICTION. 


locks  of  liiilr  that  cjiiii  at  tlie  back  of  the  neck  in  many 
women ;  he  speaks  of  them  in  the  insolently  caressing  terms 
that  are  used  to  designate  the  iileasures  of  the  senses,  and 
snrrounds  them  with  snbtly  flattering  expressions  that  are 
as  shameless  m  certain  looks  and  touches.  Without  a  mo- 
ment's delay  his  fair  readers  comb  their  hair  liigh  on  the 
back  of  their  head,  and  arrange  it  in  bangs  and  stiff  little 
corkscrews,  and  parade  with  a  collar  very  low  in  the  back, 
ifhich  gives  them  a  deceptive  reseuililance  to  a  condor  or  a 
vnlture,  and  all  for  the  sole  purpose  of  looking  like  the 
woman  whom  the  poet  lias  portrayed  to  them  as  being 
especially  adapted  to  erotically  excite  a  man,  who,  by  the 
way,  is  steeped  in  vice  through  and  through— which  fact, 
however,  he  does  not  mention.  The  case  is  the  same  with 
us  in  Germany.  Every  one  who  does  not  lose  his  senses 
in  the  presence  of  woman  to  such  an  extent  that  his  judg- 
ment is  paralyzed  and  his  contemplation  becomes  a  worship, 
knows  how  whole  generations  of  Oerman  girls  and  women 
have  formed  themselves  upon  the  mwlel  of  Claurens' 
female  figures,  as  now  uiwn  the  Gold  Elsie's  and  Geier- 
wally's  of  recent  fiction.  Fortunately  the  creators  of  Gold 
Elsies  and  Geierwally's  are  not  corrupt  poisoners  of  the 
popular  mind,  and  the  figures  which  they  hold  np  as  mod- 
els to  their  readers  are  at  least  morally  free  from  reproach 
even  if  they  are  false  to  nature,  untrue  and  contrary  to 
good  taste.  Blan  is  less  attected  than  woman  by  the  opera- 
tion of  this  novellsticand  theatrical  suggestion,  principally 
for  the  reason,  that  he  does  not  read  so  much  light  litera- 
ture as  the  latter,  but  at  the  same  time  he  does  not  entirely 
escape  it.  When  the  ^^Sorrows  of  Wertlier*'  fii-st  appeared, 
Germany  was  soon  swarming  with  Werthers  who  did  not 
merely  pretend  to  think  and  feel  like  their  model,  but 
really  acted  like  him,  and  proved  their  sincerity  in  many 
eases  by  committing  suicide,  which  is  a  point  that  mere 


1/ 


PATHOLiKUCAL   CHARACTER   OF    LITERATURE.         239 

affectation  surely  would  not  have  attained.  In  France, 
Antony,  the  victim  of  love  and  fate,  produced  a  whole  tribe 
of  Antony's,  and  Byron  is  responsible  for  the  fact  that  in 
the  thirties  the  whole  civilized  world  was  alive  with 
demoniacal  }Oung  men  with  pale  cheeks,  long  hair,  wide 
collars,  lowering  brows  and  terrifically  mysterious  glances. 
Thus  the  poets  and  novelists  stand  like  the  Jacob  of  the' 
Bible  before  the  watering-trough  and  set  their  "rods  of 
green  poplar  and  of  the  hazel  and  chestnut  tree,"  in  which 
they  have  "pilled  white  strakes"  in  the  gutters,  and  cause 
"ringstraked,  speckled  and  spotted"  generations  to  be 
brought  forth  as  they  may  choose. 

There  would  be  no  further  misfortune  in  this  if  our 
hUm-lettres  held  up  none  but  normal  and  correct  models 
before  the  masses.  But  they  do  not  do  this.  The  literature 
of  fiction  contains  nothing  but  impossibilities,  improba- 
bilities and  anomalies,  with  so  few  exceptions  that  they 
can  not  be  taken  into  account.  The  cases  which  it  de- 
scribes are  exceptional  cases,  such  as  never  or  exceedingly 
rarely  occur;  the  beings  it  portrays  belong  to  an  infinites- 
imalminority,  if  it  is  at  all  possible  to  imagine  them  as 
actually  existing  in  flesh  and  blood ;  the  ideas,  the  senti- 
ments, the  actions  it  depicts,  are  morbidly  exaggerated  in 
one  direction  or  the  other,  and  very  different  from  those  of 
the  typical  average  human  being,  well-balanced  both  men- 
tally and  morally.  The  literature  of  fiction  is  an  enormous 
collection  of  tales  of  disease,  of  which  some  have  been 
conscientiously  observed,  while  by  far  the  largest  majority 
have  been  begotten  by  a  hideous  or  ignorant  imagination, 
an  endless  catalogue  of  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to, 
from  the  slight  obscuration  of  the  judgment  by  some 
unreasoning  passion,  to  the  most  monstrous  moral  degen- 
eracy. 

Even  the  newspapers  have  this  character  of  seeking 


Hi  II 


THE  DIPOET  OF  FICTION. 

after  the  exceptional  iiiiil  the  iiioi-l»id.     Tlie  news  wliich 
tliey  rekite  to  tlieir  reiiilers  are  about  muwlers  iiml  hoiiii- 
cicles,  fires,  niilroud  iieddenls,  imiinlatioiis,  earlli(iiuiki;s.  all 
©vents  whieli  liardlj  one  iiuui  in  a  Imndred  in  civilized 
coiiiitries  ever  sees  with  his  own  eyes  in  the  whole  eourse 
of  liis  life.     And  this  is  niitural,  too.     A  normal  life  does 
"iiot  aeein  to  contain    iinytliing  worth    relating,   accord- 
ing to  our  inherited  imnt  of  view.     That  Uucle  Hinz  sU-i>t 
well,  enjoyed  his  cup  of  coffee  at  Ijreakfast,  waited  on  his 
customers  all  the  morning  and  ale  his  dinner  witii  a  good 
appetite,  all  as  usual,  does  not  seem  to  otter  any  topic  for 
the   news  of  the   day.     That  alone  is  chronicled  which 
differs  from  the  usual  standard,  and  this  is  precisely  the 
exception,  the  niorliid  case..    If,  therefore,  some  wise  citi- 
zen of  Thebes  to  whom  the  ncwsiKipcr  would  be  a  liitherto 
nnknown  institution,  were  to  tii)i)ear  among  us,  and  i)ick 
up  a  daily  iKii>er,  he  would  certainly  in(|uire:    "My  noble 
host,  has  the  world  and  luimauity  grown  so  wicked  that 
nothing  oecni-s  now  but  crimes?     Arc  the  gods  so  angry 
with  men  that  tiiey  inflict  all  misfortunes  upon  them?  \m 
all  peoijles  clamoring  to  make  war  uiwn  all  others?  "    The 
exchange  and  market  reiwrts  and  the  advertisements  would 
be  all  that  would  calm  liis  perturbed  mind  to  any  degree, 
and  re\e:d  to  kim  that  besides  the  lioiTors  and  excitements 
there  was  an  c very-day  life  calmly  peaceful  and  regular 
going  on  all  tlie  wliile. 

Novels  and  plays  in  their  higlier  forms  liave  llie  same 
proi)eusity  as  the  newspapers.  They  devote  themselves 
exclusively  to  exceptions  tuid  exaggerations.  The  offal  of 
fiction  crudel}  portrays  external  incidents  of  an  unusutil 
character,  such  as  adventures,  remarkable  accidents  and 
crimes,  while  the  more  pietentious  literature  descrilxis 
extraordinaiT  human  lieiugs,  and  soul-conditions  of  an 
exceptional  nutnre,     The  author  writing  for  the  render  of 


PArST   ANT)   OTHELLO   IN   REAL   LIFE. 


241 


a  less  cultivated  mind,  gives  him  at  best  voyages  of  dis- 
coverv,  marvellous  ad\entures  auiouiij  robbers  and  pirates, 
wai-s  and  shipwrecks,  in  his  ]>lood  and  thunder  stories  of 
the  sensational  style ;  the  one  writing  for  the  reader  of  a 
more  cultivated  taste  serves  up  all  kinds  of  passions  and 
inward  eonfliets,  such  as  we  are  not  accustomed  to  en- 
counter on  the  street ;  but  it  is  always  something  differing 
from  the  usual  human  lot  that  forms  the  subject  of  the 
work  of  fiction.     It  is  true  there  is  this  difference,  that  the 
original  romancers  only  digress  from  the  truth  in  so  fiir  as 
tlu^y  exaggerate  or  are  arbitrary  in  the  selection  of  their 
premises,  from  which,  however,  they  deduce  correct  con- 
clusions, wliile  the  mediocre  or  imitators,  in  tlieir  efforts  to 
represent  nature  do  not  put  more  expression  into  the  lines 
as  tluiy  draw  them,  nor  more  intensity  into  the  coloring, 
but  sketch  imperfectly  and  apply  the  paii  t  without  taste 
or  discrimination.     However,  the  romancer  has  never  the 
riglit  to  say  to  the  majority  of  his  readers,  and  not  even  to 
one  lalioriously  searc^hed  for  with  Diogenes'  lantern,  the  sig- 
nificant "Tat  twain  asi  I"    "This  is  thou  !  "  of  the  Indian 
sajre.    How  manv  books  are  there  which  could  say  with  the 
Roman  of  old  to  any  healthy,  normally  developed  being : 
"Of  thee  is  the  story  told."     Let  us  examine  into  this 
matter  together,— Kveiy  German,  perhaps  every'  man  who 
has  attained  to  any  of  the  higher  grades  of  culture,  has 
something  of  Faust   in   him,   his  craving  for  truth  and 
knowledge,  his  gnawing  sense  of  his  finiteness,  but  how 
many  of  us  feel  this  craving  to  that  tormenting  extent  that 
we  .seek  to  appease  it  with  the  contents  of  the  "clear,  crys- 
tal cup?"     Most  girls  feel  like  Juliet  during  a  certain 
portion  of  their  lives ;  but  only  very  few  carry  the  eecen- 
tricitv  of  their  love  for  Romeo  to  such  an  extent  that  the}' 
1-epair  to  the  old  Crypt  and  seek  a  tomb  in  the  vault. 
There  are  plenty  of  jealous  men,  and  unfortunately  man^' 


242 


THE   BIFORT  *'">F  PIf'TION. 


■11  li 


of  ilieiii  liave  mova  ciiiise  for  their  torments  iind  suspicions 
lliiMi  Othello.     But  yet  they  clo  not  sraotlier  their  Desde- 
monas,  not  even  when  they  belong  to  the  vanishing  minor- 
ity  of  generals  and  governors.     As  far  as  my  experience 
goes,  I  have  never  known  but  one  man  in  actual  life,  who 
even  made  the  attempt  to  carry  Shakespeare's  suggestion 
into  execution.      But  the   whole  story   was  lamentiil>ly 
spoiled  by  tlie  fact  that  the  Othello  was  a  porter  in  a 
wholesale  coffee  house,  and  found  his  courage  for  the  act 
in  a  £?lass  of  whiskey,  and  then  upon  his  arrest  when  tlie 
deed'' was  only  half  (completed,  pretended  to  remember 
nothing  about  it.     At  the  same  time,  the  i^>etic  creations 
mentioned  as  illustrations  alwve,  are  the  most  universally 
true  and  the  most  universally  human  of  all  in  the  litera- 
ture «)f  tlie  world.     If  we  descend  to  a  lower  grade,  the 
matter  liwomes  far  woree.     The  three  gay   musketeei-s 
never  did  live,  and  they  could  not  lead  their  existence  of 
nnbridled  love,  gambling  and  fighting  even  for  a  single 
week  in  our  present  civilization,  without  having  all  the 
policemen  of  the  district  at  their  heels.     Not  one  out  of  a 
million  readere  will  ever  be  ex|)09ed  to  the  possibility  of 
beccmiing  a  Robinsim  eruso(^  and  the  honest  Friday  is  in- 
comparably less  to  us  than  HecuVwi  to  the  actors.     But  is 
there  no  such  thing  as  a  fiction  that  is  the  mirror  of  reality, 
perfectly  true  to  human  nature  in  general?   I  n'ply  in  good 
faith  •    T  see  nothing  of  the  kind.     Kven  ;  Hermann  and 
Dorothea."  that  simple,  faithful  picture  of  every-day  life 
in  a  little  German  town,  is  not  true  to  nature,  in  so  far  as 
it  is  based  ui>on  premises  which  are  only  verified  in  the 
course  of  centuries.     Seldom  or  never  do  we  see  whole 
communities  forsake  their  homes  with  kith  and  kin,  bag 
and  Imggage,  and  go  wandering  around  through  the  coun- 
try.  ilMis  "affording    Hermann    the    opi)Oitunity  to  find 
Don»thea  at  the  well,  as  in  the  days  of  the  patriarchs,  and 


THE   FRAUD    "NATURALISM. 


243 


V 


to  conduct  his  bride  as  a  servant  to  his  father's  house.  All 
the  beings  who  ramble  about  in  the  novels  and  on  the 
stage,  are  people  from  the  moon,  side-show  marvels,  with 
a  horn  in  their  forehead,  bearded  women,  wizards,  giants 
and  dwarfs,  they  drag  along  a  peculiar  fate,  which  is  worth 
being  exhibited  to  the  gaping  crowd  at  ten  cents  admis- 
sion fee ;  they  have  some  valuable  secret  basted  into  the 
lining  of  their  coats,  they  are  a  whole  yard  deeper  inside 
than  outside ;  the  ordinary,  tranquil,  peaceable  crowds  of 
human  beings  who  are  neither  especially  good  nor  es- 
pecially bad,  who  support  themselves  honestly  and  leave  a 
will  when  they  die,  if  they  have  anything  to  bequeathe, 
and  upon  whose  busy  life  the  sun  shines  all  over  the  broad 
earth,  these  human  beings  are  not  the  ones  that  fiction 
portrays. 

I  hope  no  one  will  cast  "naturalism"  in  my  teeth, 
claimed  by  a  few  modern  French  writers  as  their  brand-new 
invention,  I  know  of  course  that  it  vaunts  itself  ui>on 
portraying  only  the  naked  truth  in  regard  to  life,  and  to  be 
working  from  -'human  documents"  alone,  that  is,  from 
facts  observed.  But  it  is  all  a  contemptible  fraud,  and 
the  rankest  kind  of  a  device  to  deceive  the  unsophisticated. 
Those  authors  who  speculate  in  natiu-alism,  do  exactly  the 
same  thing  as  I  once  saw  a  local  photograplier  do  in  a 
little  town  in  Hesse.  He  had  in  his  possession  a  large  col- 
lection of  old  card  photographs  which  he  had  once  bought 
at  an  auction  at  Frankfort  for  a  trifle.  Whenever  any 
person  was  brought  into  prominence  by  any  of  the  events 
of  the  day,  he  would  select  some  picture  from  his  stock 
which  corresponded  to  his  idea  of  the  new  celebrity,  and 
offer  it  for  sale  as  the  portrait  of  the  person  in  question. 
He  thus  sold  in  1878  a  Disraeli  with  a  bottle  nose  that 
proclaimed  strong  alcoholic  propensities,  and  four  years 
later,  a  Gambetta  with  a  venerable,  patriarchal  beard  and 


THE  BIPOMT  OF  FICTION. 

a  Riisslmi  ftir  cap  on  liis  head.    His  way  of  doing  business 
was  not  discovered  until  lie  exhibited  over  the  name  of 
Garfield  the  photograph  of  a  man,  entirely  unknown  to 
him,  l)ut  known  and  recognized  by  the  whole  t^wn  as  the 
deceas«l  tax  collector.    The  authors  of  the  naturalistic 
school  have  inherited  the  old  methods  from  then-  pretleces- 
sors  of  the  last  three  thousand  years ;  but  because  the 
spirit  of  the  times  happens  to  be  earnest,  scientific,  cogita- 
tional,  at  present,  because  the  public  pretends  and  perhaps 
even  believes  itself,  that  it  is  interested  solely  in  estab- 
lished facts  and  scientific  experiments,  they  give   their 
methotls  such  ftishionable  names  as  naturalism,  expen- 
mental  fiction,  human  docruments,   etc.     One  of  Zolas 
novels  is  exactly  like  one  of  Sue's  novels,  or  Prevost's,  or 
Scan-on's-an  independently  invented  story  which  never 
occurred  anywhere  except  in  the  imagination  of  the  author. 
If  one  author  likes  to  wade  in  the  mire  while  another  pre- 
fers some  cleaner  place,  if  one  likes  to  portray  drunkards, 
prostitutes  and  imbeciles,  and  the  other  rich,  aristocratic 
and  estimable  model  citizens,  it  is  simply  a  matter  of  per- 
sonal  peculiarity,   and   does   not  alter   anything  in  the 
method.     The  natui-alistic  school  is  therefore  no  more  real 
life  iio  more  actual  nature,  than  the  idealistic  or  conven- 
tional  school,  as  all  statistics  prove  the  fact  that  even  in 
the  wicketlest  cities  there  is  hardly  one  Nana  to  a  liundred 
iuhabitauts,  and  one  Assommoir  in  fifty  buildings,  that  the 
Nanas  ami  Assommoirs  are  unknown  and  exceptional  cases 
to  the  vast  majority,  and  hence  are  of  no  practical  impor- 
tance, even  if  they  do  swtually  exist,  even  if  they  are 
described  without  exaggeration  and  arbitrary  adaptation— 
which  fact,  by  the  way,  it  is  imix)ssible  to  concede,  and  con- 
sequently, thev  can  not  he  considered  valuable  for  anything 
more  than  to  be  a  freak  of  nature  in  some  pathological  muse- 
um, and  not  ad:.pt..l  'ni  iiuy  way  to  ho  a  -  lunnnii  document ' 


WHY  FICTION   IS   PATIIOLOGICAli. 


245 


i 


Wliy  then  is  it  that  all  fiction,  the  naturalistic  as  well 
as  all  other  kinds,  devotes  itself  exclusively  to  the  por- 
trayal  of  exceptional   and   morbid   cases?     One   reason, 
already  indicated  above,  is  in  the  reader.     The  public  does 
not  want  to  find   what  it  knows  already,  reproduced  in  a 
book.     It  is  on  the  lookout  f(n'  sensations,  and  these  are 
only  produced  V»y  the  transition  from  an  existent  into  a 
new  state  of  tlie  consciousness,  the  cessati<ni  of  one  and 
the  commencement  of  another,  different  impression.     The 
eircuinstanees  in  which  we  live  ordinarily  are  so  familiar 
to  our  senses  and  our  consciousness,  that  we  no  longer 
perceive  them,  just  as  we  fail  to  perceive  the  pressure  of 
the  atmosphere  which  is  perpetually  upon  us.     To  stimu- 
late the  consciousness  to  activity  the  author  must  therefore 
describe  dill'ercnt  iuid  hitherto  unfamiliar  circinnstances 
and  people  to  the  public,  and  these  he  can  only  find,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  outside  of  what  is  oniinary,  outside  of 
the  majority  and  the  average  type.     The  serond  reason  is 
not  in  the  reader,  but  in  the  author.     At  the  present  day, 
and  indeed  for  the  last  hundred  years,  the  author  of  nov- 
els and  plays  is  either  the  child  of  or  the  life-long  dweller 
in  a  city  and  under  the  direct  influence  of  its  mental  and 
moral  atmosphere.     lie  lives  among  nervously  excited  and 
in  many  cases  morbidly  degenerate  individuals.-    We  must 
nc»t  forget  that  the  inhabitant  of  a  city  represents  a  type 
of  humrnity  destined  to  decay.     Every  family  of  dwellers 
in  cities  dies  out  in  the  third  or,  at  the  latest,  in  the  fourth 
generation,  if  its  blood  is  not  renewed  and  vigor  imparted 
to  it  by  recruits  from  the  country.     Nervous  aberrations 
are  of  especial   frequency   among  this   class  of  people. 
Countless  numbers  of  individuals  are  hovering  there  on 
that  borderland  between  a  sound  mind  and  insanity,  which 
has  recently  become  so  fascintiting  to  specialists  and  psy- 
chologists.    They  are  not  really  deraiiged  nor  are  they  any 


1 


246 


THE    1MPO.RT   OF    FK'TION. 


A  MODEL  NOVEL. 


247 


longer  eiitirely  sciuihI     Th-if  brniii  centres  do  ii«.>t  work  as 
they  oiiglit  to.     One  will  1k»  del >ili tilted  and  degenerate, 
another "excessivclv  sosccptible  and  unnaturally  pwNlomi- 
naot.     They  feel,  they  think    and   a(4  differently  from 
healtliy    and   vigorous    luiinaii    lieings.      Slight  contacts 
arouse  temi>ests  in  them ;  their  sensations  hecome  passions 
OYer  which  their  judgment  lias  no  contr<»l ;  I  hey  are  emo- 
tional and  impulsive,  morbidly  exaggerated  in  both  love 
and  hatred,  their  ideas  abouml  in  eccentricities,  an<l  they 
are  inconsistent  in  all  they  do  and  leave  undone.     This  is 
the  class  of  beings  which  the  author,  residing  in  a  city, 
sees  constantly  around  him,  wliicli  he  studies,  to  which,  in 
most  cases,  he  belongs  himself.     It  is  obvious  that  the  life 
in  common  of  natures  r>r  this  kind  must  produce  problems 
such  as  would  never  arise  in  the  lives  of  normal  human 
Ijeings.     The  conditions  of  attraction  and  repulsion,  tlui 
inwani  and  external  conflicts,  the  complications  au«l  the 
catastroplies  are  entirely  diff<?reut  from  those  that  occur  to 
people  in  noi-mal  conditions,  in  whose  lives  the  sunshine 
and  the  rippling  of  the  brook  in  tlie  meadow,  tlie  shade  of 
tlie  mountain  forest  and  the  free  winds  of  the  plain,  in  short, 
all  the  workings  and  influences  of  nature,  are  constantly 
performing  the  office  of  a  perpetual  regulator.    Surrounded 
by  these  crowds  of  ultra  sensitive  or  olduse,  nervous  or 
hysterical,  sentimental  or  corrupt,  abnormal  human  beings, 
who  are  lialf  geniuses  and  lialf  idiots,  who  si>end  their 
lives  tottering  between  the  3awning  jaws  of  the  insane  asy- 
lum and  the  cnminal  court,  the  poet  of  the  great  city  loses 
his  grasp  of  the  truths  of  humanity,  and  at  last  ceases  en- 
tirely  to  know  how  the  world  is  reflected  in  a  clear,  unol)- 
scured  eye  and  in  a  brain  neither  ultra  excited  nor  degen- 
eimte.     And  thus  these  Zola  stories  of  hereditary  morbid 
mentiil  conditions  come  to  lie  written,  thus  these  Ihsen 
"ghosts,"  and  all  these  crazy  novels  of  love,  jealousy  and 


crime,  which  are  as  foreign  and  incomprehensible  to  a 
vigorous  and  sound  constitution  as  the  headaches  and  dys- 
pepsia of  chlorotic  invalids. 

And  the  picture  of  such  unlovely  passions,  eccentrici- 
ties and  unbalanced  states  of  the  reason  and  morals  is 
exhibited  to  the  reader,  and  works  as  suggestion  upon 
him ;  it  serves  him  as  an  orhh phtus,  from  which  he  learns 
to  know  the  world  and  humanity,  and  as  a  model,  upon 
which  he  forms  himself !     And,  what  is  to  lie  done  to 
prevent  it?     The  authors  of  tlie  light  literature  of  foimer 
centuries,  who  did  not  live  in  cities,  and  who  were  not 
subject  to  nervous  complaints,  supplied  their  public  with 
the  stimulants  they  required,  in  the  form  of  coarse  absurd- 
ities, adventures  of  travel,  hunting  and  war,  or  of  acknowl- 
edged fairy  tales,  which  none  but  a  poor  fool  like  Don 
Quixote  could  take  in  earnest.     Our  eor temporaries  have 
become  too  precocious  for  such  reading  matter,  and  Indians, 
Africans  and  enchanted  princesses  now  captivate  none  but 
children  less  than  twelve  years  old.     I  can  see  no  remedy 
for  this  contamination  of  the  reader's  imagination  by  the 
corrupt  matter  of  our  polite  literature,  unless  the  govern- 
ment decides  to  forbid  a  residence  in  cities  to  all  autliors 
of  novels  and  plays,  and  banishes  them  to  peaceful  villages 
and  the  society  of  sturdy  country  people,  or  miless  we  can 
persuade  our  professional  autliors  to  portray  to  the  people 
average  facts  established  by  statistics,  instead  of  rare, 
exceptional  cases,  and  to  discuss  mental  physiology,  instead 
of  mental  pathology,  and  to  write  a  book  about  healthy 
instead  of  diseased  persons. 

I  am  only  afraid,  I  am  very  much  afraid,  that  this  use- 
ful book,  so  highly  to  be  recommended  in  every  respect, 
would  never  find  either  a  publisher  or  a  reader. 


LOVE    AS   A    SUB.IKCT   FOR    l)lSCi:SSlON. 


249 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF 

LOVE 


What  has  tlie  suggestion  exerted  by  the  literature  of 
fiction  iniule  of  tliat  sentiment,  the  most  important  of  all  to 
tlie  preser^^ation  of  the  race,  what  has  it  made  of  love?  No 
other  human  instinct  has  l)een  to  such  an  extent  so  over- 
refined,  so  diverteil  from  its  true  course,  and  trained  to 
sueli  morbid,  folse  ideals,  no  other  psyeliieal  phenomenon 
has  been  so  misinterpreted  and  so  systematically  rendered 
nnintelligilile,  as  love. 

This  has  been  carried  to  such  an  extent  that  it  re- 
quires serious  consideration  before  one  can  proceed  to  the 
investigation  of  love,  of  the  way  in  which  it  originates,  its 
purpose,  its  course  and  the  states  of  the  consciousness 
witli  which  it  is  assm^iated,  with  sober  earnestness  and 
scientific  impartiality.  All  the  emotional  giddy-pates  of 
both  sexes,  wliose  empty  heads  liave  been  turned  by 
light  literature,  their  only  intellectual  food,  cry  murder, 
and  demand  that  the  protane  analyst  be  stoned  to  death. 
The  indignation  against  him  knows  no  bounds.  He  is  a 
heartless  cynic,  a  morally  decrepit  being,  to  whom  nature 
has  denied  the  sublimest  of  all  sensations.  He  is  a  villain 
wlio  Is  sinning  against  the  majesty  of  womanhood,  and  an 
infamous  wretch  who  lias  sacrilegiously  forced  his  way 
iui o  love's  Holy  of  Holies.  This  has  Ijeen  said  of  Schopen- 
hauer, and  his  successor,  E.  v.  Hartmann ;  this  is  what 


. 


would  1)e  said  by  the  '•  Vetlchcnfresser''  of  Darwin,  Spencer 
and  Bai^i,  if  they  ever  read  or  could  understand  these  great 
minds./  Love  is  not  a  subjpct  for  impartial  discussion,  but 
only  for  rapturous  verse..  /One  must  not  approach  it  as  a 
critic,  but  as  a  lover  only,/   By  permission  :  it  is  a  request 
that  can  not  be  granted.     I  can  talk  of  hunger,  without 
being  hungry,  of  fear,  without  being  afraid.     I  am  allowed 
to  dissect  and  describe  these  phenomena  in  cold  blood, 
without  giving  any  one  the  right  to  accuse  me  of  being  in- 
eai>al)le  of  doing  justice  to  a  well-spread  tal)le,  or  of  expe- 
riencing the  excitement  which  is  caused  in  man  by  the 
realization  of  a  great  danger,  overwhelmingly  superior  to 
till  his  means  of  defence.     Why  should  not  the  subject  of 
love  be  also  open  to  impartial  criticism,  without  giving 
cause  for  the  immediate  assertion  that  the  critic  is  incapa- 
l)le  of  experiencing  love,  and  consecpiently  of  comprehend- 
hv^  it?     The  worst  conditions  iraaginabie  for  the  investi- 
gallon  of  hunger  or  of  fear,  would  l)e  those  very  sensations. 
We  can  not  expect  a  hungry  man  to  determine  with  any 
accuracy  or  method  the  effect  of  the  idea  of  a  roast  of  beef 
ui)on  his  nervous  system,  especially  when  it  is  sending  up 
its  fragrance  on  the  platter  before  him,  and  a  man  who  is 
afraid   acts  like  a  person   of  discretion  when   his  only 
thought  is  of  running  away,  and  not  of  self-analysis.     In 
the  same  way  a  person  in  love  is  the  very  last  one  whom 
we  ought  to  expect  to  enlighten  us  in  regard  to  the  mental 
processes  occurring  during  the  period  of  love.     This  can 
only  be  done  by  the  dispassionate  observer.     And  there 
is  no  cause  for  him  to  fall  on  his  knees,  cast  up  his  eyes 
and  delude  himself  into  a  poetic  ecstasy  or  frenzy,  when- 
ever he  speaks  of  love.     For  the  very  reason  that  it  is  the 
most  intense  and  the  most  important  to  humanity  of  all  its 
sentiments,  it  ought  to  l)e  considered  with  a  brain  all  the 
clearer  and  everything  like  excitement  and  enthusiasm, 


250  TEB   NATUBA.L  H1ST<»RY  OF   LOVE. 

the  langii:ige  of  sigas  and  of  flowers,  most  carefiiUy 
tivokled,  as  iioless  this  is  done  tlie  actual  facts  can  neither 
lie  observed  nor  descrihed  with  luiy  accuracy. 

For  the  whole  substance  of  love  is  comiKised  of  i>er- 
lectly  natural  elements,  even  if  those  in  love  do  not  like 
to  aekiiowledge  this  fact     The  human  bniin  contams  a 
supreme  sex  centre,  upon  which  some  lower  centres  m  the 
spinal  cord  are  dependent,  and  which  in  return  is  iiitlu- 
enceil  by  the  action  of  the  latter.     In  the  prime  of  life, 
during  which  the  reproduchig  system  of  the  ludividiial  is 
in  complete  maturity,  and  the  seat  of  animated  pimesses 
of  growth,  the  sex  centre  in  the  brain  is  also  iii  a  condi- 
tion of  tension  and  susceptibility,  which  makes  it  vcit 
sensitive  to  all  causes  of  excitement,     lu  emotional  natures 
and  in  those  in  which  the  mind  is  unoccupied,  it  exerts  a 
predominant  and  freciuently  a  sovereign  control  over  the 
entire  consciousness.    It  affects  the  judgment,  the  imagina- 
tion and  the  will,  it  awakens  ideas  of  eictic  origin,  and 
turns  all  the  energy  of  the  brain  into  a  certain  channel, 
thus  affecting  the  entire  brain  as  a  sex  polarity,  if  such  an 
expression  is  permissible.     This  state  of  the  mind  is  ex- 
perienced subjectively  by  the  individual  as  an  impulse  or 
a  craving  to  love.     All  that  is  now  necessary  for  this  im- 
pulse and  this  craving  to  find  an  object  and  become  trans- 
formed into  actual  love,  is  for  the  individual  in  this  frame 
of  mind,  to  meet  another  of  the  op{)08ite  sex  in  the  same 
condition.    In  tl^s  case  all  the  vital  activity  of  the  brain 
to  which  it  is  excited  by  the  sex  centre,  revolves  around 
the  loved  being,  who  is  not  regarded  and  judged  according 
to  what  he  or  she  really  is,  but  accoi-ding  to  the  way  m 
which  the  one  loved  corresponds  to  the  organic  rcciuire- 
ments  of  the  one  loving.     The  former  is  merely  a  puppet 
whicli  the  latter  dresses  and  drapes  to  suit  his  or  her 
|)ersonal  taste. 


WE  LOVE  OUR  ORGANIC   IDEAL,   NOTHING   ELSE  I      251 

Every  normal  human  being  has  an  iustiuclive,  imcou- 
scious  perception  of  the  qualities  which  must  be  possessed 
by  the  individual  of  the  opposite  sex  to  ensure  in  a  union 
with  the  latter  the  perpetuation  and  improvement  of  his 
own  qualities  in  his  offspring.  The  more  highly  cultivated, 
the  more  original,  the  more  differentiated  an  individual, 
the  more  complex  the  qualities  which  he  attributes  to  the 
longed-for  and  expected  individual  of  the  opposite  sex.  If 
he  has  his  choice  among  a  number  of  individuals,  he 
selects  with  infallible  certainty,  the  one  that  comes  the 
nearest  to  the  ideal,  which  attains  organic  perfection  in 
him  when  he  first  comes  to  maturity.  If  he  has  no 
choice  he  accepts  any  individual  as  it  happens,  with  perfect 
content,  if  the  latter  is  not  so  entirely  different  from  and 
oi)posed  to  his  ideal,  that  his  sex  centre  is  not  affected  in 
the  least,  and  experiences  no  more  affinity  nor  emotion  in 
the  presence  of  the  latter  than  if  it  were  an  individual  of 
his  own  sex,  an  animal  or  an  inanimate  object. 

The  closer  the  resemblance  between  one  individual 
and  tho  t>rganic  ideal  of  another,  the  more  rapidly  of  course 
the  work  of  identifying  him  with  the  organic  ideal  pro- 
ceeds; if  the  two  exactly  coincide,  then  the  thunderbolt 
falls,  the  individual  falls  in  love  on  the  spot,  in  an  instant, 
and  has  the  feeling  that  he  has  always  known  -and  loved 
the  object  of  his  choice ;  if  there  are  certain  differences, 
the  indiA'idual  has  first  to  perform  the  task  of  adapting, 
balancing  and  accustoming  himself  to  the  new  conditions, 
and  learning  to  disregard  the  discrepancies  between  the 
other  individual  and  his  ideal,  and  seek  to  connect  the  two 
in  his  mind  as  closely  as  possible;  in  such  a  case  one 
falls  in  love  gradually,  more  rapidly  or  more  slowly  accoixl- 
mg  as  the  object  of  his  love  can  be  more  rapidly  or  more 
slowly  adapted  to  the  prc-cxistent  organic  ideal.  In  all 
jcases  the  individual  in  love  does  not  love  another  human 


252  THE   NATIBAL   HISTORY   *»F   LOVE. 

t>eiiig,  but  an  itkul,  whidi  luis  l>em  evolved  by  his  own 
orgnnism ;  tbc  impulse  to  love  is  the  seeking  for  an  em- 
Imliment  of  this  inwuid  ideal  in  corporiito  form  ;  love  Uie 
pemiading  of  one's  self  that  this  embodiment  has  beeii 
fcund;  the  beloved  being,  the  projection  of  the  mwait 
ideal  into  the  outer  world.     The  love-life  of  an  individna 
therefore  begins  when  his  sex  centre  comes  to  maturity,  anil 
la.ste  as  long  as  the  the  latter  is  in  its  prime;  the  ideti  is 
then  orgmiicallv  evolved  and  eontinnes  vital  throughout  the 
whole  period  of  pubescence;  whether  it  is  ever  realised  or 
not  is  another  matter;  it  is  existing  and  waiting  for  its 
opportiiniiy  to  make  its  ai>pc'anuice  in  an  Incarnate  form  ; 
the  individual  is  virtually,  or  potentially  if  not  actual h^  m 
love  auring  all  this  time;  he  is  in  love  .villi  his  ideal  if 
not  with  auv  particular  person.     The  lower  and  simpler 
the  ideal  the  easier  is  it  for  the  individual  to  find  the  real- 
ization of  it  in  corporate  form.    Hence  common  ami  simple 
nature  s  full  in  love  veiy  easily,  and  find  no  dit  leulty  m 
replacing  the  olyeet  of  their  love  by  another;  while  deli- 
cate  and  complex  natures  find  it  a  long  and  tedious  task 
to  discover  their  ideal  or  anything  approximating  it,  in 
real  life,  and  in  giving  it  a  successor  if  they  hapi^en  to 

lose:  it.  ,  * 

Wooing  affects  the  sex  centre  as  a  powerful  cause  or 

exeitemeiit,  and  the  individual  who  is  the  object  of  it  can 
easily  fall  into  en-or  and  lose  the  assurance  of  his  intuitive 
iKjrwption  of  what  is  organically  necessary  to  him  for  the 
Ln^etuation  and  improvement  of  his  qualities  m  his  off- 
spring, misled  by  the  influence  of  the  excited  state  of  his 
sex  eenti*;  but  this  misbiken  idea  does  not  survive  the 
wooing  which  was  the  instigating  cause  of  the  excito 
meni  The  realization  of  the  foet  that  he  has  made 
tliis  mistake,  produces  in  him  a  feeling  of  confusion 
und  mortification,  wliieli  turns  in  tinu^  into  hatred  of  tne 


LOVE    THE    REALIZATION    OF    INCOMPLETENESS.         253 

individual   who  was  the  cause  of  it,  and  is  one  of  the  most 
acutely  disagreeble  sensations  to  which  human  beings  are 

liable. 

Normal  and  natural  love  is  always  conscious  of  its 
purpose.     It  is  the  consciousness  of  incompleteness,   the 
longing  for  the  possession  of  what  is  needed  to  supple- 
ment the  individual,  physically,  mondly  and  mentally,  to 
fmm  the  perfect  whole,  the  source  of  new  life.     In  power- 
ful individuals,  love  issues  will-impulses  strong  enough 
to  conquer  all  opposing  wills  and  overcome  every  obstacle.  ^ 
In  individuals  of  feeble  wills  it  is  not  capable  of  this  ;  the 
emotion  is  and  remains  subjective,  and  does  not  convert 
itself  into  actions.     We  must  therefore  not  measure  the 
strength  of  the  love  of  human  l)eings  by  the  efforts  they 
make'to  attain  to  the  beloved  being,  as  the  intensity  of 
these  efforts  depends  upon  the  strength  of  their  will  and 
not  upon  the  strength  of  their  love.     But.  I  must  add  in 
limitation  of  this  idea  that  in  all  healthy  and  normal  per- 
sons all  the  brain  centres  are  developed  about  equally,  so 
thai  those  individuals  whose  wills  are  weak,  will  hardly 
have  very  powerful  sex  centres,  while  those  who  are  ctq)a- 
ble  of  experiencing  violent  love  will  also  have  powerful 
wills,  as  a  general  thing. 

The  different  importance  of  the  two  sexes  in  the  pres- 
ervation of  the  race  makes  corresponding  differences  in 
their  love  life  imperative.  The  role  assigned  to  woman  is 
incomparably  more  important;  she  is  obliged  to  supply 
the  entii-e  substance  for  the  formation  of  a  new  being,  to 
form  it  complete  in  her  own  organism,  and  impress  her 
own  qualities  upon  it,  as  she  inherited  them  from  her 
ancestors ;  man's  share  in  this  tedious  and  difficult,  even 
lieroic  task,  is  merely  to  supply  the  impulse ;  the  nature  of 
the  task,  however,  being  directly  dependent  upon  the 
nature  of  the  impulse,  to  a  certain  degree,  as,  for  example, 


264 


TUB    NATURAL    HISTORY   OF    LOVE. 


the  same  dyoamite  will    burn    lianiilessly  or  Idiize   up 
lirightly,  or  explode  witli  terriic  force,  according  as  it  is 
set  on  fire  with  a  li\'e  coal,  a  liglited  match,  or  some  otlier 
explosive.     Consequently  tlie  sex  centre  in  woman  is  more 
highly  developed,  its  iictivit)  is  more  animated  and  more 
important  in  the  total  of  the  brain's  activity ;  woman  has 
a  more  distinctly  evolved  ideal  of  the  man  she  organically 
needs  to  complete  her,  and  she  is  less  easily  induced  to 
rclmquish  this  ideal,  and  resign  herself  to  some  other  en- 
tirely different  substitute ;  when  she  has  once  found  her 
ideal,  it  is  almost  impossible  for  her  to  renounce  it,  and 
the  emotion  in  which  the  excited  state  of  her  sex  centre 
manifests  itself,  crowds  all  its  other  contents  out  of  her 
consciousness,  so  that  she  can  do  nothing  but  love,  and 
place  her  will,  her  judgment  and  her  imagination  at  the 
service  of  her  love,  to  such  an  extent  that  she  will  not 
allow  the  slightest  attempt  on  the  part  of  her  judgment 
to  subdue  this  emotion  with  rational  ideas.    AVoman  feels, 
instinctively,  that  she  must  not  make  a  mistake,  and  is  un- 
conscionsly  aware  of  the  fact  that  a  mistake  would  entail 
irreparable  consequences  nixin  her  and  upon  the  race,  and 
that  it  would  lead  to  an  unreasonable  amount  of  unprofit- 
able organic  exertion,  and  is  consequently  extremely  dis- 
trustful and  afraid  of  the  slightest  possibility  of  a  mistake ; 
on  the  other  hand,  she  realizes  the  fact  with  corresponding 
certainty  when  she  has  found  tlie  right  one,  and,  in  this 
case,  is  more  willing  to  give  up  lite  itself  than  the  man  she 
loves.    The  circumstances  are  different  where  man  is  con- 
cerned.   It  is  allowable  for  him  to  make  a  mistake,  as  a 
mistake  does  not  entail  any  oi-ganic  consequences  upon 
him,  as  far  as  his  share  in  the  preservation  of  the  race  is 
concerned.    Hence  his  ideal  of  the  woman  he  oi-ganically 
needs  to  complete  him  is  prefigured  in  his  mind  with  less 
distinctness ;  hence  he  is  apt  to  fall  in  love  more  rapidly 


MORBID    FORMS    OF    LOVE. 


255 


I 


and  easily  with  the  first  woman  he  happens  to  meet;  he  is, 
for  this  reason,  much  less  constant  j  hence  also,  he  can 
love  much  oftener,  renounce  much  easier  and  forget  with 
much  less  difficulty;  for  this  reason,  also,  the  activity  of 
the  sex  centre  assumes  by  no  means  so  large  a  proi)ortion 
in  the  total  of  his  l)rains  combined  activity,  and  hence,  his 
love  can  be  proportionately  more  easily  controlled,  sub- 
dued and  even  entirely  vanquished  by  his  judgment. 

This  is  in  hasty  and  general  outlines,  the  natural 
history  of  love  as  it  occurs  in  perfectl\'  healthy  and  normal 
individuals  of  both  sexes.  But  does  this  simple,  true, 
harmonious  love  ever  occur  in  those  circles  whose  mental 
aliment  is  the  light  literature  of  the  (la\?  I  doubt  it  very 
seriously.  What  is  regarded  as  low  and  accepted  as  love, 
in  those  circles,  are  only  imitations  of  morbid  and  false 
conditions,  to  the  representation  of  which  fiction  and  tiie 
stage  devote  their  entire  attention. 

Disorders  and  affections  of  the  sex  centre  are  oi  the 
most  freipient  occurrence  among  highly  civilized  people. 
A  race  that  is  deteriorating  is  first  affected  in  this  source  of 
future  generations.  The  deliility,  exhaustion  and  degen- 
eracy of  the  individual  as  well  as  of  the  people  and  the 
race,  first  manifest  themselves  in  anomalies  in  the  work- 
inirs  of  the  sex  centre,  so  that  love  becomes  unnatural  in 
its  character,  its  energy  and  in  the  selection  of  its  object. 
Whenever  there  is  anv  disorder  in  the  nervous  svstem  it  is 
echoed  by  the  sex  centre,  which  is  constantly  striving  to 
rule  supreme  over  the  entire  activity  of  the  organism,  even 
in  a  condition  of  perfect  health,  and  to  apply  it  to  the 
furtherance  of  its  own  interests,  but  is  withheld  from  this 
usurpation  by  the  opposition  of  the  other  centres,  while  it 
has  its  own  way  unresisted  in  an  enfeebled  or  unbalanced 
brain,  and  fills  the  consciousness  exclusively  with  its  own 


256 


THE   NATURAL    HISTORY  OF  LOVE. 


excited  stotes,  makiiig  :i  shue  of  tlie  whole  organism  and 
planting  its  standaitl  of  victory  on  the  ruins  of  the  reason 
and  jndgment,  this  stimdard  being  now  a  petticoat,  now  a 
fool's  cap,  and  anon  a  banner  of  a  procession  or  the  scourge 
of  the  penitent  sinner.     Fiction,  and  especially  the  fiction 
of  the  day,  portrays  cxclusi\'ely  these  morbid  forms  of 
love.     The  reason  for  this  tact  was  alluded  to  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter.     The  authors  have  either  ultra-sensitive 
nerves  themselves,  or  else  live  in  the  midst  of  metropoli ton 
tyi>es,  in  whom  they  are  unable  to  observe  any  other  mani- 
festations than  those  of  disturbed  and  unbalanced  organ- 
isms.    If  all  the  characters  in  fiction  are  not  precisely 
the  victims  of  pronounced  I()ve4n8anity,  yet  tliey  are  one 
imd  all  dwelling  on  that  Iwrder-land  between  peifect  health 
and  mental  unsoundness  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter. 
The  sijeclalist  in  brain  diseases  recognizes  in  the  descrii*- 
tion  of  the  mental  states  and  actions  of  those  in  love,  as 
fjortrayed  in  our  polite  literature,  the  indications  of  certain 
kinds  of  mental  disorders  with  which  lie  is  very  familiar. 
As  a  usual  thing,  the  graver  symptoms  are  only  equally 
indicated ;  if  however,  they  were  but  slightly  increased,  they 
would  prove  to  be  classical  examples  of  erotic  mania,  oi 
ecstatic  delirium,  religious  frenzy  and  other  mental  mala- 
dies to  which  we  could  not  properly  refer  in  tlie  presence 
of  the  unprofessional.     A  reader  of  sound  judgment  and 
particularly  one  of  professional  education,  imagines  him- 
self in  a  clinical  hospital  wlien  looking  about  himself  in 
fiction.     Nothing  but  patients  and  invalids  !     Here  is  an 
individual  who  loses  his  senses  at  the  sight  of  a  woman, 
becomes  deprived  of  his  reason  and  does  the  most  idiotitt 
tilings ;  liere  is  another  who  is  transported  into  a  danger- 
ous condition  of  turbulent  or  silent  ecstasy  b}'  u  glo\c  or  a 
lower  belonging  to  the  beloved  being ;  in  one  case,  love 
impels  the  lover  to  criminal  actions,  In  another  to  melan- 


woman's  idea  of  love. 


257 


eholy  and  moroseness ;  at  one  time  we  see  a  suspicious 
alternation  of  capricious  coldness  and  sudden  tenderness, 
and  again  the  bankruptcy  of  a  whole  character  and  mind, 
until  the  will  is  reduced  to  the  most  pitiable  condition  of 
impotency,  under  the  influence  of  the  passion.  And  all 
these  freaks  and  oddities,  these  ecstasies  and  renunciations, 
these  raptures  and  yearnings,  tliese  impotent  longings  and 
absurd  violence,  are  exhibited  as  the  regular  and  natural 
manifestations  of  love,  without  a  word  of  warning,  without 
the  slightest  notice  to  the  effect  that  the  subjects  treated 
are  morbid  exceptions ! 

Reading  matter  like  this  produces  a  profound  and 
extremely  injurious  efl'eet  upon  the  average  reader,  and 
especially  upon  those  inclined  to  nervousness,  and  whose 
minds  are  unbalanced  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  but 
above  all,  upon  the  city  woman.  Woman  from  her  verj^ 
nature  has  a  tendency  to  regard  love  as  the  chief  and  sole 
purpose  and  substance  of  human  life,  and  she  is  com- 
pletely confirmed  in  this  idea — in  which  she  may  be  right  as 
far  as  she  herself  is  concerned,  but  which,  however,  does  not 
apply  to  man — when  she  sees  that  the  books  from  which 
she  obtains  all  her  knowledge  of  the  w^orld  and  of  life,  turn 
upon  nothing  but  love  from  the  very  first  to  the  very  last 
line.  The  portrayal  of  the  contest  for  a  woman  and  of  the 
transports  when  the  victory  is  won,  exalts  her  natural 
appreciation  of  herself  into  a  perfect  insanity  in  regard  to 
her  powers  of  fascination,  and  she  deifies  herself  until  she 
actually  believes  that  the  gift  of  her  heart  is  a  super- 
terrestrial  boon,  which  it  is  far  beyond  man's  power  to  re- 
quite even  with  the  renunciation  of  all  the  other  tasks  and 
aims  of  his  existence.  She  learns  to  estimate  man  solely 
according  to  his  capacity  for  loving ;  the  wretched  weak- 
ling whose  imbecile  brain  is  unable  to  oppose  any  resist- 
ance to  his  emotions  of  love,  tossed  hither  and  yon  without 


258 


THE   NATURAL   HISTORY  OP  LOVE. 


THE   HARM   DONE   BY   EROTIC   LITERATURE. 


259 


mast  or  rudder  on  the  sea  of  passion,  slie  considers  touch- 
ing and  love-inspiring ;  the  strong  and  healthy  man,  whose 
cogitation  holds  his  emotion  in  check,  who  retains  control 
of  liis  reason  even  in  the  excitement  of  love,  and  only 
yields  to  its  promptings  in  so  tar  as  they  are  apprfived  by 
ills  judgment,  she  detests  as  cold  and  heartless.     She  calls 
melting  softness  and  whining  ultra-sensitiveiiess,  devotion; 
while  nnyielding  strength,  versed  in  self-control,  with  a 
proud  appreciation  of  the  value  of  the  affection  ofTeiXHl  as 
well  as  of  the  affection  received,  is  in  her  eyes  revolting 
nideness.    The  morbid  state  of  degeneracy  which  renders  a 
man  woman's  plaything  and  the  victim  of  his  own  temiier- 
ament,  is  in  her  eyes  tlie  token  of  real  manhood,  and  her 
imagination  painte  the  true  lover  witli  the  external  symp- 
toms of  pale  cheeks,  languishing  glanc458  and  dreamy  brow, 
all  traits  which  are  not  among  tlie  attribute's  of  sound  and 
perfect  manhood.     She  imagines  that  love,  to  be  deep  and 
genuine,  must  assume  an  cxaggerattHl  fcnin ;  she  cxi3ects 
mentel  and  physical  gymnastic  feats,  uonseusical  effusions 
in  prose  and  verae,  sighs,  tears  and  clasped  hands,  incom- 
prehensible  mysticism  in  words,  ideas  wliich  would  never 
occur  to  any  rational  human  being,  and  deetis  In  imitation 
of  Orlando  Furioso  or  of  Amadis  de  CJaul.     To  l>e  recog- 
nized as  genuine,  love  must  prauce  and  parade ;  a  silent, 
self-contained  sentiment  that  neither  gushes  nor  gesticu- 
lates,  that  has  no  appreciable  influence  upon  one's  desire 
to  eat  and  sleep,  and  is  compatible  witii  the  f  idfdlmeut  of 
tiie  duties  of  one's  vocation— this  is  not  considered  love.    It 
is  only  recognized  in  the  form  of  a  tt^mimt ;  it  must  appear 
with  thunder  and  lightning;  the  lover  nnist  rush  to  his 
loved  one  as  Zeus  to  Semele ;  if  he  makes  his  appeanince 
in  any  other  way  he  is  not  tiie  expected  god. 

And  this  is  not  all.     Fiction  disturlis  also  the  natural 
course  of  the  development  of  the  sentiment  of  love  in  the 


■■* 


.1/ 


youthful  reader,  and  especially  in  the  girl  reader.     The 
rule  is  for  the  sex  centre  to  commence  its  activity  as  the 
organism  attains  its  maturity,  thus  arousing   ideas  and 
emotions  of  an  erotic  nature  in  the  consciousness.     But 
among  the  youth  of  tiie  upper  classes,  the  reverse  occurs. 
Erotic  ideas  and  emotions  are  artificially  forced  upon  the 
consciousness  by  what  is  read,  and  excite  the  sex  centre  to 
premature  and  therefore  injurious  activity.     If  the  instinct 
to  love  is  a  result  of  the  attaining  to  maturity  of  tiie  indi- 
vidual, the  organism  has  had  the  time  and  the  strength  to 
instinctively  evolve  the  ideal  of  the  mate  it  feels  it  requires 
to  complete  it,  the  sentiment  becomes  assured  and  reliable, 
the  influence  of  fancy  restricted  and  the  danger  of  error  in 
the  decisive  choice  materially  lessened.     But,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  erotic  ideas  are  prematurely  impressed  upon  the 
consciousness  by  what  is  read,  then  the  organism  is  taken 
by  surprise,  before  it  is  yet  able  to  evolve  its  ideal  of  a 
mate;  the  foreign  suggestion  disturbs  this  delicate  task; 
the  organism  ceases  to  listen  to  its  own  indistinct  voices, 
and  hears  none  but  those  of  fiction ;  the  imagination  does 
not  receive  the  idea  of  the  longed-for  individual  from  tiie 
mysterious  depths  of  the  cells  and  tissues,  but  from  tiie 
pages  of  novels;  the  individual  does  not  attain  to  the 
true  perception  of  the  needed  companion,  and  any  chance 
encounter  may  prove  fatal,  owing  to  the  lack  of  the  inward 
standard.     The  fair  novel-reader  and  theatre-goer  does  not 
know  whether  the  man  who  interests  her  is  the  right  one 
or  not,  because  she  has  no  organically  evolved  ideal,  and 
only  memories  of  heroes  in  romance  and  drama  for  her 
criterions.    She  substitutes  her  fancies  for  the  real  needs  of 
her  organism,  and  heedlessly  commits  tiiose  fatal  errors  in 
her  choice  which  wreck  her  life  for  ever  after. 

In  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  among  the  cul- 
tivated classes,  and  especially  among  the  inhabitants  of 


2150 


THE   NATURAL   HISTORY  OP  LOVE. 


tlie  larger  cities,  what  is  considerec!  love  or  what  is  pre- 
tended to  be  love,  is  Bot  ii  love  evolved  in  the  organism, 
but  merelj  the  effect  of  the  suggestion  exerted  by  fiction. 
If  lovers  of  this  cliiss  had  never  read  a  novel  nor  seen  a 
sentimental  plaj,   thej  would  probably  not  be  in  that 
state  which  they  recognize  as  love  in  themselves,  or  if 
tliey  were  really  in  love,  tfiis  sentiment  would  manifest 
itself  in  entirely  different  thoughts,  words  and  actions  from 
what  it  now  does.     They  do  not  love  with  their  sex  centre 
but  with  their  memor}-.     Consciously  or  unconsciously 
they  are  enacting  a  r51e   in  some  society   drama,   and 
earnestly  and  zealously  play  the  scenes  which,  as  iwrtrayed 
in  books  or  represented  on  the  stage,  have  taken  posses- 
sion of  their  imagination.     It  is  a  custom  in  Paris  witli 
loving  couples,  in  the  honej-moon  of  their  young  love,  to 
make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  tomb  of  AMard  and  Heloise— 
that  celebrated  and  unfortunate  pair  of  olden  times.   There 
is  a  deep  significance  in  this  proceeding.     For  it  is  ex- 
tremely probable  that  the  two  lovers  each  owe  the  infatu- 
ation which  they  are  experiencing,  to  the  dead  minstrels 
of  love  of  the  twelfth  centur}',  or,  in  other  wonls,  to  the 
stories  of  love  wliich  have  been  sung  to  them  l>y  the  poets 
of  all  ages  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  strains  of  the  harp. 
The  man  with  whom  a  woman  who  has  read  ranch  is  in  love, 
need  not  pride  himself  upon  this  fact.  What  she  really  loves 
is  not  him  personally  nor  her  organic  ideal,  which  he  may 
resemble,  but  the  figure  in  romance,  invented  by  some 
antlior,  for  which  she  is  seeking  some  one  to  represent  it. 
Let  ns  lieat  our  breasts,  my  brethren  !     However  humili- 
ating this  may  te  to  our  piide,  we  must  still  all  acknowl- 
edge the  fact  that  in  our  love  affiiirs  we  have  all  been  more 
or  less  the  weaver  with  the  ass's  head  in  the  Midsummer 
Night's  Bream,  of  whom  Titania  was  enamored  because 
she  was  under  the  spell  of  the  magic  fiower.    The  Oberon 


THE   ''CHIc"'   OF  THE   PARTSIENNE. 


261 


i 


who  has  dropped  the  juice  of  the  magic  herb  upon  the  eye- 
lids of  our  Titanias,  is  the  romancer  alone.  It  was  simply 
our  good  fortune  that  we  happened  to  cross  the  path  of 
Titinia  just  when  she  was  under  this  influence.  But 
whether  it  is  Bottom  or  Quince,  Titania  is  most  certainly 
not  in  love  with  either  one  or  the  other,  but  with  some 
romantic  figure  suggested  to  her  by  some  roguish  Oberon, 
ivs  Faust,  after  drinking  the  magic  potion,  saw  an  ideal 
Helen  in  every  woman  he  met. 

A  certain  indescribable  fascination,  style  or  ctiic  has 
been  ascribed  to  the  ParisirHue  by  several  generations  of 
authors  of  all  nationalities,  all  writing  in  the  same  stereo- 
typed fashion.     The  consequences  are  tliat  the  mouth  of 
every  simpleton  waters,  and  his  eyes  twinkle  when  the  mere 
mime  of  a  PurisintDf  is  mentioned,  and  especially  when 
lie  sees  one  in  flesh  and  blood  before  him.     If  you  ask  the 
idiot  what  he  sees  in  her,  he  is  content  to  liellow  forth  the 
same  single  word:  "chic!  chic!"     He  sees  in  the  Paris- 
icnip  wiiat  his  books  have  convinced  him  is  there  for  him 
to  see.     Our  literature  has  been  the  trumpet  of  the  praises 
of  actresses  and  circus  riders  in  the  same  way— no  other 
teini  will  express  it,— and  consequently  these  persons  are 
the  objects,  par  ercrUence,  of  the  frantic  adoration  of  all 
<»iir  cadets,  students  and    esthetic    counter  jumpers."  In 
the  same  way  fiction  has  suggested  the  military  oflTicer  to 
woman,  at  least  in  Germany,  as  the  object  most  worthy  of 
love,  and  the  brass  buttons  might  well  hang  a  votive 
wreath  in  the  temple  of  the  muses  of  fiction,  as  often  as  a 
feminine  lieart  succumbs  to  their  fascination. 

If  we  study  the  love  affairs  of  which  we  see  the  origin, 
the  growth  and  the  culmination  in  a  happy  marriage  or  in 
some  obtrusively  eclatant  catastrophe  in  the  society  around 
us,  we  will  find  that  as  a  rule,  the  affair  proceeds  accord- 


2(12 


THE   NATURAL   insTOIlV   OF    T.OVE. 


TITK    AVRONd    POXK    TO  LOVE. 


263 


iiicr  to  this  general   plan :    a  genlleuum   pays   particuhir 
attention  to  some  one  3-onng  lady,  as  is  ol)ligatory  upon  hiin 
by  sitting  next  to  her  at  table  or  by  the  exigencies  of  the 
dance.     The  lady  then  experiences  a  certain  sense  of  satis- 
faction at  the  effect— usnally  very  raucli  exaggerated-- 
produced  by  her  person,  and  her  vanity  thus  flattered  dis- 
poses her  to  an  amiable  and  responsive  frame  of  mind, 
which  in  turn  is  misinterpreted  by  the  gentleman's  self- 
love.     At  this  point  the  work  of  chance  comes  to  an  end, 
and  the  suggestion  of  fiction  begins  to  make  itself  felt. 
Both  he  and  she  have  experienced  a  slight  impulse  of 
attraction,  the  imagination  perfects  it,  the  memory  in^'okes 
all  the  images  of  famous  lovers,  all  the  poems,  love-letters 
and  confessions  of  love  which  they  have  read  l)estir  them- 
selves and  start  to  the  pen  and  to  the  lips,  thc^N'  become 
more  and  more  inspired,  more  and  more  impassioiu^d  in 
the  erotic  roles  tliey  liave  commenced  to  play,  and  finally 
they  appear  before  the  altar,  where  invisible  to  all,  a  crowd 
of  authors  of  fiction  extend  their  hands  in  benediction 
upon   the  heads   of  the  wedded   pair,  whom   they  alone 
have  brought  together.     Afterwards  it  only  too  IVeciuently 
becomes  evident  that  Thechi  has  entrusted  the  role  of  her 
Max  to  some  one  entirely  incompetent  to  fill  it  or  tlie  re- 
verse, and  then  another  drama  is  played,  which  is  also  the 
work  of  the  suggestion  of  some  poet>— perhaps  one  of  crime 
and  divorce,  perliaps  of  separation  or  a  convent  lomance. 
But  the  whole  matter  is  almost  always  a  phonogi-apliic 
love,  in  which  the  male  and  female  faithfully  r(n)eat  in 
their  metallic  Punch  and  Judy  voices,  the  words  spoken 
into  them,  as  into  Edison's  ingenious  instrument,  by  the 
romancers  beforehand. 

Ye  over-refiners  of  love,  ye  quintessencers  of  passion 
and  pathologists  of  the  human  heart,  ye  flibricators  of  am- 
biguous situations,  exceptional  human  beings  with  double- 


t 


barrelled  souls,  and  of  unheard-of  incidents,  what  have  ye 
made  of  the  simplest,  the  truest  and  the  most  delightful 
human  instinct?  how  terribly  have  ye  sinned  against 
us  all ! 


f 


EVOLUTION   IN    AESTHETICS 


HerlMirt  Spencer  says  in  his  "Principles  of  Biolog5%" 
(Vol  II,  page  253,  English  and  American  editions) :  ''This 
seems  as  fit  a  phice  as  any  for  noting  the  fact,  that  the 
greater  part  of  wliat  we  call  beauty  in  tlie  organic  world, 
is  in  some  way  dependent  on  the  sexual  relation.     It  is 
not  only  so  witli  the  colours  and  odours  of  flowei-s.     It  is 
so,  too,  with  the  brilliant  plumage  of  birds,  and  with  the 
songs  of  liirds,  both  of  which,  in  Mr.  Darwin's  view,  are 
due'to  sexual  selection ;  and  it  is  prol)able  that  the  colours 
of  the  more  conspicuous  insects  are  in  part  similarly 
detennined.     The  remarkable  circumstance  is,  that  these 
characteristics,  which  have  originated  by  furthering  the 
production  of  the  best  offspring,  while  they  are  naturally 
those  which  render  the  organisms  possessing  them  attract- 
ive to  one  another,  directly  or  indirectly,  should  also  be 
those  which  are  so  generally  attractive  to  us— those  witli- 
out  which  the  fields  and  woods  would  lose  half  their  charm. 
It  is  interesting,  too,  to  ol)serve  how  the  conception  of 
human  beauty  is  in  a  considerable  degree  thus  originated. 
And  tlie  trite  observ^ation  that  the  element  of  beauty 
which  grows  out  of  the  sexual  relation  is  so  predominant 
in  aesthetic  products—in  music,  in  the  drama,  in  fiction,  in 
poetry— gains  a  new  meaning  when  we  see  how  deep  down 
in  organic  nature  this  connexion  extends." 

These  few  lines  contain  all  three,  and  in  fact,  all  nine 


THE   SIBYLLINE    BOOKS  OF  ESTHETICS. 


265 


1  I 


of  the  Sibylline  books  of  natural  aesthetics— the  science 
which  treats  of  the  beautiful  in  nature  and  art. 

The  human  mind  and  even  the  mind  of  the  masses 
will  gradually  become  accustomed  to  thinking  in  accord- 
ance with  the  principles  of  evolution,  that  is,  to  recognize 
in  each  phenomenon  an  episode  of  development,  incompre- 
hensible in  itself,  but  which  is  made  clear  and  intelligible 
by  what  has  preceded  it,  and  appears  much  less  mysterious 
when  viewed  by  the  light  of  the  past  than  when  considered 
alone  by  itself.  When  the  intellect  of  man  has  attained  to 
this  point  of  view,  few  things  will  seem  so  absurd  to  it,  as 
the  ideas  and  attempts  at  explanation  which  constitute  the 
whole  of  the  science  of  aisthetics  as  professionally  taught 

at  the  present  day. 

For  mental  philosophy,  up  to  the  present  time,  has,  with 
few  exceptions,  consUmtly  disregarded  the  principles  of  evo- 
lution. It  accepted  the  psychical  phenomena  just  as  they 
appear  now  to  our  observation,  and  sought  to  comprehend 
them  as  they  now  exist,  without  inquiring  how  they  origin- 
ated; nor  from  what  simple  beginnings  they  have  been 
evolved  into  their  present  complex  state,  nor  what  elements 
in  them  are  superannuated  survivals  or  dead  remains,  and 
which  arc  A'ital  impulses. 

Even  Kant  abandons  his  usual  habit  of  keen  and 
lucid  thought,  when  he  is  speaking  of  the  categories  (the 
scientific  term  applied  to  the  classified  enumeration  of  all 
things  capable  of  being  named),  and  makes  the  mystical 
statement  that  the  categories  are  forms  of  human  thought 
which  indicate  something  outside  of  and  beyond  humanity. 
In  more  intelligible  language,  this  means  simply  that  the 
forms  of  human  thought,  such  as  time,  space  and  causality, 
are  not  the  result  of  the  experience  of  the  individual,  that 
is,  of  what  his  senses  have  perceived,  and  must  therefore 
have  attained  to  his  consciousness  in  some  other  way  than 


^*w^^^^^ 


2m 


IVOLUTIOH   IN  jESTHETICS. 


Hi 


by  ineiiiis  of  his  senses,  that  is,  they  must  have  been  born 
in  Mm.    And  he  suid  this  long  after  Hume  had  discovered 
the  explanation  of  at  least  one  of  these  categories  :  caus- 
ality, which  he  asserted  proceeded  simply  from  the  fact, 
that  the  human  intellect  had  always  seen  one  phenomenon 
succeed  another,  and  gradually  assumed  the  habit  of  be- 
lieving this  sequence  inevitable,  and  began  to  surmise 
dynamic  relations  between  the  phenomena.    The  cmceii- 
tion  of  space  has  been  since  described— and  especially  by 
Bain,  Spencer  and  Mill-as  a  result  of  the  perception  of 
the  individuaFs  own  movements  transmitted  to  the  con- 
sciousness l»y  the  muscle-sense  ;  and  quite  recently  etymol- 
ogy has  been  quite  successful  in  deriving  evidence  from  the 
meaning  of  the  roots  of  the  words  now  used  to  express 
ideas  of  time,  that  man  originally  meant  to  signify  by  time, 
the  day,  the  interval  of  sunlight,  and  not  anything  abso- 
lute, aprimi,  which  consisted  of  something  beyond  the 
solar  system,  bevond  the  alternation  of  days  and  seasons, 
teyond  a  nature,  which  exhibits  nothing  but  a  succession 

of  changes. 

The  case  has  been  the  same  in  regard  to  ethics.     One 
day  it  was  found  existent :  the  fact  was  recognized  that 
human  beings  had  a  conception  of  good  and  evil,  of  virtue 
and  vice,  and  no  one  thought  of  inquiring  whether  this 
conception  had  been  naturally  evolved,  but  all  leai^ed  at 
once  to  the  conclusion  that  just  so,  just  as  it  then  lived, 
moved  and  had  ite  being,  it  must  have  been  revealed  to 
mankind  by  some  divine  being.     We  know  now,  U>  be 
sure,  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  gooil  and  evil,  but  that 
the  necessity  of  a  life  in  common  has  gradually  induced 
human  beings  to  designate  those  actions  which  are  preju- 
dicial to  the  interests  of  the  community  as  a  whole,  as  bad 
and  vicious,  and  those  advantageous  and  conducive  to 
these  interests,  as  good  and  virtuous. 


THE   METAPHYSICS   Oi^   THE   APPLE   DUMPLINGS.       267 


^Esthetics  has  not  escaped  this  universiii  hiw  of  hasty 
conclusions,  which,  strangely  enough,  claims  to  be  pro- 
found penetration.  As  the  conception  of  beauty,  us  man- 
kind now  posssesses  it,  is  not  capable  of  a  direct  explana- 
tion by  any  pretensions  to  utility  nor  any  other  process 
apparent  to  the  senses,  from  Plato  to  Fichte,  Hegel, 
Vischer  and  Carriere,  a  lunidred  pliilosophers  have  been 
ready  with  the  obvious  assertion  that  this  conception  is 
another  one  of  those  mysterious  phenomena  which  indicate 
•d  certain  superhuman  something  in  man,  one  way,  in  wliich 
the  Unite  human  intellect  can  form  an  approximate  con- 
ception of  the  iniinitc,  a  sublime  presentiment  of  the  non- 
material  being  who  is  the  [)riinal  cause  of  all  material 
phenomena,  and  all  the  rest  of*  the  like  meaningless 
aggregations  of  words. 

The  proverb  says  never  to  show  a  fool  an  unfinished 
house.  But  the  proverb  is  entirely  wrong.  It  ought  to 
l»e  the  reverse,  that  a  finished  house  should  never  be  shown 
to  a  fool ;  for  when  the  house  stands  complete,  the  fool 
sUires  at  it  with  open  eyes  and  mouth,  and  can  not  under- 
st^iiid  how  it  ever  came  to  be  so  tall  and  wide  and  magnifi- 
cent. If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  shown  to  him  unfinished, 
if  he  is  allowed  to  watch  as  stone  is  laid  upon  stone,  beam 
iq)on  beam,  it  is  no  longer  difficult  for  him  to  understand 
the  growth  and  existence  of  what  now  so  astonishes  him, 
its  construction  and  its  purpose,  the  why  and  wherefore  of 
its  parts,  and  the  how  of  the  whole.  A  well-known  anecdote 
of  George  III  of  England,  states  that  he  once  fell  into  a 
re  very  over  some  apple  dumplings  which  had  been  served 
up  te  him  at  a  lurm  table,  when  he  was  hunting  one  tlay, 
and  after  profound  meditation  he  exclaimed  :  "  How  the 
devil  did  the  apples  ever  get  inside  the  dumplings?  "  The 
science  of  metaphysics  stands  before  the  psychic  phenom- 
ena like  George  III  before  the  dumplings.     As  it  does  not 


268  EVOLUTION    IN   AESTHETICS. 

seem  possible  to  conceive  that  the  apple  could  have  got  in- 
side the  njund  dumpling  in  any  natural  way,  it  at  once 
assumes  that  there  must  be  some  miraculous  dnd  super- 
natural war.     Thus  the  ideas  of  time  and  space  and 
causality  must  be  innate,  -a priori  intuitions,"  thus  our 
conception  of  morality  must  be  a  divine  i^velation,  thus 
our  conception  of  beauty  must  be  a  perception  of  some- 
thing transcendental  and  infinite.     Here  the  philosophy  ol 
evolution  steps  in,  and  describes  with  the  homely  common 
sense  of  a  cook,  that  the  apple  dumpling  as  it  appears 
smoking  on  the  table,  is  in  fact  something  beyond  our 
powers  to  comprehend  and  to  explain ;  but  that  it  has  not 
^ways  ten  the  symbol  of  eternity  that  it  is  now,  in  its 
roundness  without  end,  and  its  solid  whole  without  any 
opening,  but  that  it  was  once  pliant  dough,  which  could  be 
very  naturally  wrapiied  around  the  apple,  as  is  very  easy 
to  Understand,  and  the  mystery  ceases  to  be  a  mysterj'. 

Like  our  code  of  ethics,  and  our  ideas  of  tune,  space 
and  causality,  our  conceptions  of  the  beautiful  ought  not  to 
bo  considered  as  they  exist  in  their  present  complete  state, 
if  we  wish  to  understand  them,  but  we  must  investigate 
how  they  have  come  to  be  what  they  now  are.     At  the 
present  day  they  are  something  very  complex ;  onginally 
they  were  something  exceedingly  simple.     We  apply  at 
present  the  adjective,  beautiful,  to  a  long  list  of  objects  of 
Oie  most  varie.1  character,  which  appeal  to  the  most  varied 
senses :  music  and  paintings ;  a  landscape  and  a  waterfall ; 
a  cathedral  and  a  storm  at  sea ;  a  poem  and  an  ornament 
set  with  jewels.     In  the  same  way  we  term  a  long  list  of 
sensations  aesthetic,  which  are  entirely  dissimilar  in  almost 
every  respect:  the  rapturous  sense  of  awe  we  expenemc 
St  the  sight  of  the  thundering  spring-tide  surf,  as  well  as 
onr  amused  delight  when  we  are  contemplating  one  of  Obei- 
Jiender's  pictures  in  the  Fliegende  Blotter,  oui-  admiration 


I 


AGREEABLE    AND    DIS.4.GIIEEABLE    SENSATIONS.        269 

of  the  Vouii.s  of  Mile,  as  well  as  our  appreciation  of  a 
grand  and  imposing  building.  MeUphysical  aesthetics  has 
strained  every  point  to  trace  back  this  multiplicity  to  unity. 
But  it  has  all  been  useless  lal)or,  with  no  tangible  results. 
To  make  the  difTeieiit  objects  resemlilc  each  other,  tliey 
first  had  to  be  stripped  of  their  most  essential  character- 
istics, adding  to  one  what  was  taken  from  another,  depriv- 
iu>'  another  of  what  the  former  lacked.  And  wlien  this 
work  of  counterteiting  and  adjusting  was  not  sufficient, 
some  arl)itraiy  addition  was  made  to  them,  tlius  produc- 
ing a  sham  simiUirity  between  them,  due,  not  to  the  natu- 
ral features,  but  to  the  artificial  disguises  of  the  objects. 
We  will  make  the  same  attempt,  but  by  a  more  honest 
method ;  instead  of  zealously  stirring  up  the  elements  of 
the  complex  phenomena  into  confusion  worse  confounded, 
and  making  them  still  more  difficult  to  l»e  recognized  and 
apparently  more  similar,  by  pouring  some  of  tl:is  meta- 
physical broth  of  infiniteness  over  them,  we  will,  on  the 
contrary,  separate  them  one  from  the  other  and  return  to 
each  its  original  appearance. 

One  (piality  is  common  to  all  aesthetic  sensations: 
that  they  are  the  reverse  of  disagrceal)le  sensations.  But 
the  feelings  of  pleasure  which  the  different  manifestations 
of  the  beautiful  inspire  in  us,  proceed  from  entirely  differ- 
ent organic  sources.  Before  we  begin  to  dig  for  these 
sources  one  word  in  regard  to  the  agreeable  and  disagreeable 
sensations  themselves.  Agreeable  sensations  are  those 
aroused  by  impressions  or  ideas  of  impressions,  which  are 
in  some  way  conducive  to  the  preservation  of  the  indi- 
vidual or  of  the  race ;  disagreeable  sensations  are  all  those 
the  reverse  of  this.  The  fact  that  this  is  the  case  is  based 
upon  a  natural  and  spontaneous  foundation.  A  being  in 
whom  the  impressions  upon  liis  senses  which  menaced  or  in- 
jured his  existence  did  not  arouse  any  disagreeable  sensa- 


270 


IVOLUTION  IN  ^ESTHETICS. 


tions,  woeM  not  have  hiid  any  cause  to  avoid  these  Impres- 
sions, and  consequently  would  have  succuml>ed  to  them  in 
time,  and  would  not  leave  any  descendants  to  represent  him 
in  the  organic  world  of  the  present  day.  The  reverse  would 
be  the  case  with  a  being  who  experienced  injurious  or  men- 
acing impressions  as  disagreeable  sensations,  and  thus 
received  from  them  an  impulse  sufficiently  intense  to  in- 
duce him  to  avoid  or  ward  them  off,  and  thus  protect  him- 
self from  injury  and  ensure  a  regular  development  for 
himself,  which  would  have  included  the  protluction  of  off- 
spring. So  far  we  have  referred  only  to  the  avoidance  of 
what  is  deleterious.  But  this  is  not  enough.  To  thrive 
especially  well  the  organism  must  seek  conditions  which 
are  not  only  not  deleterious,  not  only  neutral,  but  of  pro- 
nounced benefit.  It  is  obliged  to  experience  favorable  and 
necessary  conditions  as  agreeable,  and  thus  be  induced  to 
desire  and  strive  for  them.  The  more  intense  the  pleasur- 
able sensations  it  experiences  from  beneficial  impressions, 
the  more  energetically  it  will  exert  itself  to  obtain  them, 
and  the  more  favorable  the  effect  they  will  produce  upon 
its  growth  and  development.  Hence  tlie  organisms  of  the 
present  day  represent  the  chosen  few  among  our  predeces- 
sore  who  experienced  with  the  most  intensity  those  im- 
pressions deleterious  to  their  existence  as  disagreeable, 
and  those  conducive  to  their  existence,  as  agreeable  sensa- 
tions. I  wOl  allow  myself  one  single  example  to  elucidate 
this  fact  Coosidered  in  themselves  alone,  all  odors 
amount  to  the  same  thing,  and  there  are  neither  agreeable 
nor  disagreeable  ones  among  them.  The  odor  of  putrefac- 
tion and  the  odor  of  a  rose  are  no  more  different  in  them- 
selves than  a  blue  and  green  light,  for  instance,  or  Uie 
notes  of  a  trum|K!t  and  of  a  flute.  If  there  were  something 
teyond  the  sense  of  smell,  some  substance  upon  which 
odors  mwle  an  impression,  like  that  of  light  on  chloride  or 


ANALYSIS   OF   ODORS. 


271 


bromide  of  silver,   so  that    some    instrument  could  be 
devised,  which  would  be  to  odors  what  the  photographic 
apparatus  is  to  light,  then  we  could  convince  even  the 
most  unphilosophieal   mind,   with  the  greatest    facility, 
that  the  odor  of  decaying  matter  is  in  itself  an  odor  like 
any  other,  and  only  makes  an  unpleasant  impression  upon 
the  human  nose  owing  to  its  present  construction.     But 
it  happens  that  the  odor  of  decaying  matter  clings  to 
certain  fluid  and  gaseous  substances,  which  originate  in 
the  vital  activity  of  minute  living  beings  who  are  very 
dangerous  to  the  higher  forms  of  animal  life,  while  the 
odor  of  a  rose  proceeds  from  a  flower  which  flourishes  only 
in  dry,  sunny  places,  and  blossoms  in  the  fairest  season 
of  the  year.     A  being  to  whom  both  odors  were  alike 
indifferent  or  who  might  even  happen  to  prefer  the  odor 
of  decay,   would  not  avoid  the  places  where  putrefac- 
tion was  taking  place ;  he  would  breathe  poisonous-  gases, 
perhaps  even  eat  putrid  matter,  containing  the  cadaver- 
iwison,  (the  so-called  "ptomaine"),  and  come  into  contact 
with  the  microbe  organisms,  which  would  produce  danger- 
ous and  even  easily  fatal  diseases  in  him,  and  he  would 
begin  to  dwindle  and  perish  sooner  or  later.     On  the  other 
hand,  a  being  in  whom  the  odor  of  putrid  matter  produced 
disagreeable,  and  the  odor  of  a  rose,  agreeable  sensation^, 
would  avoid  all   those   possibilities  of  hann  which  are 
associated  with  the  former,  and  would  prefer  to  seek  out 
warm  and  sunny  spots  in  the  open  air  during  the  spring 
and  summer,  which  would  be  very  beneficial  to  his  health 
as  a  matter  of  course.     He  would  thrive  and  produce  vig- 
orous offspring,  who,  being  stronger  and  more  prolific, 
would  soon  supplant  the  offspring  of  the  being  who  was 
indifferent  to  or  preferred  the  odor  of  putrid  matter,  until 
in  time  there  would  not  be  any  beings  with    healthy 
nervous  systems  in  whom  the  odor  of  decay  would  uot 


272 


1  VOLUTION  IN  ^ESTHETICS, 


iKiuse  disii*,^reeaWc  seiisatioos,  ami  the  f  ragcaiiee  of  a  rose, 
agreeable  ones.     The  effect  of  the  two  odors  eaii  also  be 
increased  by  the  ideas  assoeiated  with  them,  which  thcy 
eatiirally  arouse.    For  iustaiice,  we  associate  with  the  od(ir 
of  decaying  matter  tlie  idea  of  certain  phenomena  con- 
nected with  the  death  and  annihilation  of  tlie  organism, 
and  with  the  rose,  the  idea  of  tliat  season  in  which  ibod 
liegins  to  become  more  abundant,  when  heat  rcitnrns.  and 
when  life  in  general  becomes  easier  and  pUrasanter  to  innn. 
This  rnle,  that  all  our  agreeable  and  disagreeal)le  sen- 
sations were  primarily  due  to  the  usefulness  or  the  injii- 
riousness  of    the  phenomena    pioducing    tlicm,   tV)r  the 
individual   or  the  race,  has  no  exceptions.     The   facts 
advanced  to  refute  it  are  drawn  from  inexact  observatiini 
or  are  superficially  interi)reti'd.     One  example  to  prove 
this.     Aleoholic  intoxicating  l>everages  arouse  decidedly 
agreealile  sensations  in  tlic  drinker,  and  j'ct  they  are  ex- 
tremely injurious  to  his  health  and  his  life.     This  is  true 
But  why  do  alcoholic  drinks  affect  one  thus?     Tor  llic 
reason  that,  at  first,  before  tliey  paralyze  and  stui)efy  tlu' 
organism,  the\-  excite  the  nervous  system  to  increasi-d 
activity  and  produce  an  intensive  feeling  of  vigor  and 
dieerfulness,  stronger  will-impulses  and  a  more  copious 
iow  of  ideas  in  the  judgment,  a  condition,  that  is,  which 
can  only  be  induced  in  a  natural  way  by  those  circum- 
stiinees  "which  arc  extremely  beneficial  to  the  health  and 
life  of  the  individual,  such  as  suiMjrior  alimentation,  ample 
rest,  perfect  health,  inhabiting  a  place  where  the  air  is  rich 
in  oxv<^en,  association  with  friends  whose  society  one  en- 
iovs,  vonth,  the  lack  of  all  eauses  ihv  anxiety  and  care.  etc. 
Primitive  man  learned  to  recognize  this  exhilarated  frame 
of  mind  which  precedes  the  actual  state  of  intoxication, 
only  ill  eonjunction   with  these  most  llivorable  cireum- 
stauces,  and  according  to  the  law  mentioned  alwve,  was 


THE   EXHILARATION   OP   INTOXICATION. 


273 


obliged  to  apprehend  it  as  an  agreeable  sensation.  Not 
until  long  after,  when  the  delight  in  this  frame  of  mind 
had  ])ecome  an  organic  instinct  within  him,  did  he  invent 
wine  and  brandy,  and  thus  obtain  tlie  possibility  of  pro- 
ducing this  exceedingly  delightful  increase  in  the  vital 
activity  of  his  brain  and  nenxs,  by  an  artificial  and  in- 
jin-ious  means.  But  this  was  only  a  few  thousand  years 
a<m  and  an  instinct  which  has  required  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  years  to  become  organic  in  man  can  not  be 
transi'orincd  in  a  period  of  such  comparative  ])revity. 
If  alcohol  existed  in  nature,  complete  and  within  the  reach 
of  all,  like  water  and  fruits,  so  that  man  and  his  prede- 
cessf)rs  had  lieen  familiar  with  intoxicating  liijuors  from 
the  bc'uinnings  of  life,  and  had  ass-)ciated  this  exhilarated 
frame  of  mind  with  it,  from  the  earliest  years,  then  all 
those  beings  who  had  experienced  it  as  an  agreeable  sensa- 
tion, and  had  therefore  exerted  themselves  to  obtam  it  by 
an  abundant  supply  of  alcoholic  stimulants,  and  thus  be- 
come drunkards,  would  have  experienced  in  their  own 
persons  the  evil  effects  of  alcohol  and  become  extinct  in  a 
short  while ;  if  this  had  been  the  case  there  would  be  no 
persons  alive  at  the  present  day  except  those  to  whom 
alcoholic  liquors  smelt  and  tasted  as  repulsive  as  petroleum 
or  tlie  fluids  of  putrefaction,  and  who  would  consider  the 
general  exhilaration  produced  by  alcohol,  a  disagreeable 

sensation. 

The  agreeable  emotions  which  are  aroused  in  us  by 
the  beautiful— using  the  word  in  its  most  comprehensive 
sense — have  identically  the  same  origin  as  all  the  rest  of 
man's  agreeable  emotions.  They  are  a  consequence  of  the 
fact  that  what  now  appeals  to  our  senses  as  beautiful,  was 
primordially  either  something  beneficiid  or  useful  to  the 
individual  or  to  the  race,  or  else  that  the  individual  first 
learned  to  know  it  as  combined  with  beneficial  or  useful 


WOLrtlON    tN   .tSTHETirrt. 

phenomena,  aiicl  oi-giiiiiciilly  iissoeiated  it  witli  the  remem- 
brance  of  the  latter  ever  after. 

Those  phenomena  which  are  experienced  as  beautiful 
fall  natiirallj  into  two  great  classes.  They  are  those  which 
are  connected  with  the  existence  of  the  individual,  ami 
those  connected  with  the  existence  of  the  race.  Tlie 
former  class  comprises  what  is  sublime,  what  is  charming, 
and  what  is  adapted  to  its  puri)ose ;  the  latter  what  is 
actually  beautiful  in  a  more  limited  sense,  and  what  is 
pretty.  These  five  forms  of  lesthetic  lieaoty  are  frequently 
mistaken  one  for  the  other,  while  yet  on  account  of  their 
dissimilar  nature,  tlie  most  careful  distinction  ought  to  be 
made  between  them.  We  will  now  investigate  each  in 
turn  and  endeavor  to  ascertain  the  relations  between  them 
and  the  instinct  of  self-preservatioe  in  the  individual  and 

the  race. 

The  sul)lime  is  the  perception  of  an  immense  lack  of 
proportion  lietween  the  individual  who  perceives  and  tlie 
object  perceived,  and  of  the  overwhelming  superiority  of 
the  latter.  Everything  grand  and  everything  majestic 
produces  the  effect  of  sul>limity.  The  idea  upon  whicli  the 
sensation  of  sublimity  is  founded  is  the  following :  com- 
pared with  this  object,  I  am  nothing.  Against  this  object 
my  strength  is  insignificant  To  struggle  against  it,  to 
conquer  it,  is  absolutely  imixissible.  If  1  were  obliged  to 
contend  against  it,  I  should  l>e  annihilated !  This  sensa- 
tion is  very  nearly  akin  to  mortal  fear,  and  it  is  in  reality 
only  to  be  distinguished  from  the  latter  by  the  fact  that 
there  is  a  second  idea  associated  with  the  idea  of  one's 
own  im potency,  to  the  effect  that  fortunately  no  such 
struggle  with  the  mighty  object  is  imi^ending,  and  that 
this  overwhelming  superiority  is  not  in  reality  to  be  em- 
ployed to  sulMlue  and  annihilate  the  being  contemplating 
it    The  sijectacle  of  Rome  burning,  viewed  from  the  ter- 


THE   STJBLTME. 


275 


race  of  the  imperial  palace,  might  awaken  the  sensation  of 
sublimity,  as  the  imposing  sight  contains  no  element  of  dan- 
ser  for  the  observer.  But  if  he  is  surrounded  by  the  con- 
flagration,  on  the  other  hand,  it  would  not  arouse  a  sensa- 
tion of  the  sublime  but  an  agony  of  fear  in  him.  The  surf 
of  the  ocean,  viewed  from  the  beach,  is  sublime ;  but  it 
arouses  an  agony  of  fear  in  the  mind  of  the  shipwrecked 
person,  who  must  pass  througli  it  to  reach  the  shore. 
The  physical  conditions  which  accompany  the  sensation 
of  the  sublime,  are  identical  with  those  that  attend 
the  sensation  of  mortal  fear.  There  is  the  same  anxi- 
ety, the  same  cessation  of  the  heart's  palpitations,  the 
same  catching  of  the  breath,  all  indications  of  the  excited 
state  of  the  so-called  ^wr  vagum ;  there  is  the  same  chill 
passing  down  the  spinal  cord,  the  same  immobility,  which 
we  might  call  a  temporary  paralysis.  Sensitive  natures 
become  benumbed  and  as  if  turned  to  stone  at  the  aspect 
of  what  is  sublime  as  well  as  of  what  is  really  terrible  and 
threatening  to  them.  The  sense  of  the  sublime  is  thus 
most  directly  asso(;iated  with  the  instinct  of  self-preserva- 
tion in  the  individual,  that  is,  it  is  due  to  his  habit  of  feel- 
ing himself  in  a  perpetual  state  of  opposition  to  the 
external  world,  which  lie  regards  as  a  possible  enemy,  and 
to  his  habit  of  realizing  tlie  probable  results  of  victory  pr 
of  defeat  in  case  of  a  conflict 

The  charming  is  the  sensation  aroused  by  those  phe- 
nomena which  produce  simultaneously  a  large  number  of 
impressions  on  the  senses  in  a  given  interval  of  time,  and 
excite  the  centres  of  perception,  reason  and  judgment  to 
an  animated  vital  activity.  The  effect  of  a  bare  wall  is 
tiresome,  because  it  produces  only  one  single  impression 
upon  the  sense  of  sight,  and  does  not  require  any  increased 
activity  on  the  part  of  the  brain  to  interpret  it  A  wall 
profusely  decorated,  on  the  otlier  hand,  produces  a  charm- 


27^ 


EVOLUTION'  m  ,iE8THETlC8. 


ing  effect  lieeause  !i  single  gkiiice  :it  it  causes  a  number  of 
impressions  on  tlie  sense  of  siglit,  and  excites  the  !>niin  to 
aEimated  aetivit}'  to  interpret  these  iin[)ressions.  What  is 
monotonous  or  uniform  may  produce  tlie  effect  of  sulilim- 
ity  upon  us  when  it  appears  us  something  of  vast  extent, 
but  it  never  interests  us,  whieli  effect  can  only  1»e  pro<bice<l 
by  that  wliieli  is  tlie  reverse  of  monotonous— multiformity, 
ciivei'sity  of  variety.  What  interests  us  ceases  to  be  ex- 
perienced as  interesthig  when  it  is  no  longer  capable  of 
teing  suiMjrficially  perceived,  when  it  can  not  all  be  grasped 
at  a  single  glance  and  interpreted  l)y  the  reason  witliout 
effort,  but  re(iuires  arduous  exertion  from  the  l)rain  centres 
in  the  way  of  investigating,  separating  and  anal^  zing.  For 
this  reason,  everything  confused  and  too  profuse  in  details, 
ceases  to  lie  interesting.  It  is  also  a  self-evident  fact  that 
the  diversity  ceases  to  lie  interesting  if  its  single  i)arts  arc 
not  experienew!  as  agreeal>le  in  themselves.  Hence  a  wall 
smirched  with  dirt  spots  of  the  most  diverse  sizes  and 
shapes,  will  not  lie  interesting,  notwithstanding  the  divei-sity 
of  its  aspect.  To  experience,  therefore,  anything  as  charm- 
ing, tlic  individual  must  firet  experience  the  consciousness 
of  his  own  life  as  something  agi-eeable.  But  this  con- 
adousness  consists  in  the  perceiving  of  impressions  on  the 
senses,  and  whatever  produces  a  number  of  simultaneous 
impressions,  which  can  be  perceived  without  effort,  imparts 
an  increased  intensity  to  the  consciousness  and  a  richer 
apprehension  of  his  vitality  to  the  individual. 

What  is  adapted  to  its  purpose  or  design,  the  appro- 
priate, does  not  protlnce  the  actual  effect  of  beauty  upon 
us,  but  rather  of  satisfaction,  and  as  the  latter  is  also  an 
agreeable  sensation,  it  is  easily  mistaken  for  beauty. 
What  is  adapted  to  its  purpose  or  design  is  what  is  Intel- 
ligible, that  is,  it  coincides  with  our  human  conceptions  of 
tlie  laws  that  govern  phenomena.     A  stone  iiyniinid  stand- 


TIIK    APPROPRIATE. 


277 


ing  upon  its  apex  appeals  to  us  as  something  the  reverse 
of  binuitiful  in  every  respect,  because  it  does  not  seem 
n|>[>i'opriate,  because  its  position  contradicts  our  concep- 
tions of  the  laws  of  gravity  and  the  laws  of  equilibrium 
deduced  from  the  former.     We  would  necessarily  feel  that 
it  could  not  remain  permanently  in  that  position,  that  it 
nuist  soon  fall.     The  leaning  tower  of  Pisa  produces  a  simi- 
lar effect.     It  produces  an  effect  the  reverse  of  beautiful 
upon   natural   tastes,  it  causes  distrust  and  a  f (Haling  of 
anxietv,  and  these  are  disnurceable  sensations.     A  house, 
with  massive  stone  upper  stones  resting  upon  thin  iron 
rf)lninns,  produces  the  same  effect,  the  reverse  of  beautiful, 
because  its  construction  seems  inconsistent.     If  men  had 
been  accustouu'd  for  centuries  to  the  sight  of  buildings  in 
whlj'li  ifou  and  stone  had  been  employed  in  tiiis  same  way, 
then  there  would  he  a  general  impression  that  a  small  (pum- 
tily  of  iron  possessed  a  vast  supporting  power,  Wxiich  far 
larger  nuan titles  of  stone  and  wood  are  not  alAe  to  over- 
come.     Then  th(^  sight  of  great  masses  of  stone  work  up- 
held by  slendcn-  iron  columns  wonld   no  longer  awaken 
ideas  of  incongruity  i\nd  inappropriateness,  and  houses 
with  iron   biisemeiits  and  stone   upper  stories  would  no 
longer  i)roduce  an  unpleasant  effect,  as  the  effect  produced 
1>V  a  tree  with  wide  spreading  branches  is  not  an  unpleas- 
ant one,  notwithstanding  tlie  fact  that  it  differs  from  our 
fundamental  conception  of  a  solid  .and  firmly  l)ased  olyect, 
viz.   a  fio-ure  resting  on  a  broad  foundation,  and  diminish- 
ing  as  it  approaches  the  top, — because  we  know  that  the 
trunk  is  solid  in  spite  of  its  small  size,  in  i)roportiou  U)  the 
whole  tree,  and  the  spreading  branches,  in  spite  of  their 
great  circumference,  very  light.    The  eliect  of  appropriate- 
ness is  connected  with  that  instinct  which  impels  man  to 
comprehend  phenomena  and  divine  their  laws,  which  are 
not  apparent  to  the  senses.     He  experiences  what  is  un- 


276 


KYfiLI-TfOW  IN  iERTHtTICS. 


known  ami  wluil  hi'  does  not  iindtMstmitl  m  something  in- 
iiEieal  and  njjslerious,  poniething  threatening,  beyond  liis 
powers  to  cope  with,  whihi  wliatever  is  clear  and  rational  in- 
spires hini  with  a  sense  of  familiarity  an<l  confidence.  For 
this  reason,  wliatever  is  a<lapted  to  its  ptiq^se  f)r  design— 
which  is  only  another  way  of  sin  ing  whatever  is  lamiliar 
and  comprehensilile  to  him—arouses  tigixH^able  sensations, 
iind  wliatever  is  not  adapted  to  its  pnrpose  or  design, 
arouses  disagreeable  ones. 

We  know  now  that  the  effect  of  what  is  snbllme,  what 
is  charming,  and  what  is  ai^propriate,  has  its  origin  in 
man's  fondamental  ideas  of  his  i>crpctnal  opposition,  that 
is.  hostile  relation  to  the  external  world,  the  Non-Ego, 
whicli  all  appeal  to  his  Instinct  of  self-preservation. 
We  will  next  proceed  to  show  how  his  apprehension 
of  what  is  iMantiful  in  a  restricted  sense,  and  what  is 
pretty,  is  directly  connt^cted  with  the  instinct  of  race- 
preservation  in  him. 

Every  impression  on  any  sense  that  aronscs  the 
highest  sex  centre  in  the  brain  to  activity,  citlier  directly 
or  by  any  association  of  ideas,  prodnces  the  cflect  of 
l^eauty  upon  us.  The  grand  ty|>e  of  everything  beauti- 
fol^in  the  eyes  of  man—is  woman,  at  the  period  of 
sexual  maturity,  and  capable  <>f  pn>pagating  her  kind; 
that  is,  a  young  and  liealtliy  woman.  She  excites  his  sex 
centre  to  the  most  intense  activity,  the  sight  of  her  and  any 
idea  connected  with  her,  arouses  in  liim  the  most  in- 
tensely agreeable  sensations  that  it  is  within  the  ijower  of 
any  mere  sight  or  idea  to  produce.  The  habit  of  associat- 
ing woman's  api>earance  with  his  conceptions  of  beauty 
and  the  agreeable  sensations  caused  by  the  latter,  whicli 
has  finally  tecome  organic,  induces  the  human  intellect  to 
ascribe  the  feminine  form  to  all  abstract  ideas  which  are 
ejtperienced  as  agreeable  or  beautifiiL     For  this  reason  we 


wcman's  idea  of  esthetics. 


279 


represent  our  conception  of  our  native  land,  of  fame, 
friendship,  sympathy,  wisdom,  etc.,  in  a  feminine  form. 
This  ought  not  to  influence  woman's  ideas.  The  sight  or 
the  idea  of  a  person  of  her  own  sex  has  no  power  to  excite 
her  sex  centre  to  any  form  of  activity,  and  hence  man 
must  be  her  ideal  of  beauty.  That  her  ideas  as  to  what  is 
l)eautiful  are  about  the  same  as  those  of  man,  is  owing  to 
'the  fact  that  man,  being  the  stronger  organism,  has  im- 
pressed his  own  ideas  upon  her  by  suggestion,  and  ban- 
ished her  own  contradictory  ideas.  It  must  be  stated  here, 
however,  that  the  ideas  of  the  two  sexes  in  regard  to  what 
is  beautiful  are  only  approximately  and  not  identically  the 
same,  and  if  woman  had  any  aptitude  for  and  skill  in  the 
critical  observation  of  herself,  and  in  analyzing  and  describ- 
ing the  states  of  her  consciousness,  she  would  long  since 
have  estal)lished  the  fact  that  her  system  of  aesthetics 
differs  most  essentially  in  many  respects  from  that  of  man. 
We  consider  those  objects  pretty  which  awaken  the 
idea  of  childhood,  either  directly  or  by  some  association 
of  ideas,  and  thus  excite  the  instinct  of  love  of  children 
upon  which  the  preservation  of  the  race  is  dependent. 
We  experience  therefore  as  pretty  everything  small,  dainty, 
and  helpless,  but  especially  the  diminished  copy  of  some 
familiar  object  which  is  much  larger  and  more  imposing  in 
reality.  These  diminutive  copies  produce  the  effect  of 
lieing  in  the  same  proportion  to  their  originals  as  children 
to  adults.  Unmistakable  traces  of  this  way  of  thinking 
are  found  among  uncivilized  peoples  and  in  less  developed 
languages.  The  Indian  actually  believes  that  the  wheel- 
barrow is  the  son  of  the  dray,  and  in  the  Magyar  or  Hun- 
garian language,  the  pistol  is  called  the  "gun's  baby," 
(kdlyok-puska.)  The  physical  phenomena  and  counter- 
effects  produced  l)y  what  is  pretty,  have  the  greatest 
resemblance  to  t  he  etfect  produced  by  the  sight  of  a  child. 


28§ 


EVfJl.'CTlON  IN  JSSTHETICS. 


Women  feel  like  kissing  what  prmliices  the  effect  of  pret. 
tiness  ii|X>ii  them,  and  experience  in  netual  fact  an  almost 
irresistible  impulse  to  caress  it  in  the  characteristic  mater- 
nal way,  that  is,  to  stroke  it,  take  it  in  their  arms  and 
carry  it  to  their  lips. 

Many  objects,  in  consequence  of  the  extended  and 
diversiaed  associations  of  thought  awakened  by  them, 
appcid  simultaneously  to  the  instinct  of  self-prescn%ition, 
and  also  to  that  of  race-i)reservation,  and  to  the  different 
suliordinate  forms  of  these  instincts,  and  are  experi- 
enced as  beautiful  in  different  ways.  For  instance, 
spring  in  nature  is  lieantiful,  charming,  and  adapted  to 
the  end  in  view.  It  excites  the  sex  centre  to  activity,  l)e- 
canse  to  primitive  man  and  the  lower  forms  of  organic  life 
that  preceded  him,  it  was  tlie  season  of  love,  as  it  brought 
a  more  abundant  supply  of  food  to  all  living  beings,  and 
thus  ensured  tliem  a  more  vigorous  vital  activity.  It  is 
furthennore  charming,  l»ecause  it  includes  a  vast  and  yet 
not  a  iMJwildering  array  of  agreeable  details,  and  conse- 
quently pro<luc*es  in  a  given  interval  of  time  the  largest 
number  of  simultaneous  impressions  on  the  senses,  and 
lastly,  it  is  adapted  to  the  end  In  view,  as  it  arouses  the 
idea  of  more  favorable  condition.s  for  individual  life. 

I  alluded  alwve  to  the  difference  lietween  the  lesthetics 
of  the  two  sexes.  It  is  the  organic  result  of  the  constitu- 
tion and  division  of  labor  between  the  sexes  in  the  human 
race  as  it  now^  exists.  Man  represents  individuality  in  the 
race,  original  development,  and  thus  in  a  certain  sense, 
selfishness,  which  looks  after  its  own  interests  alone,  and 
never  concerns  itself  with  those  of  others  except  when  its 
own  require'ments  make  it  imperative;  he  is  continually 
on  the  defensive  against  nature  and  against  his  fellow-men, 
and  in  his  struggle  for  food  and  love,  he  has  to  be  perpetu- 
ally wanllng  off  dangers,  overcoming  resistances  and  devis- 


.ESTHETICS    TN    ART. 


281 


ing  schemes  of  aggression.  The  i  nstinct  of  self-preservation 
is,  therefore,  developed  to  an  especial  extent  iu  him,  as 
this  is  all  that  he  has  to  instruct  him  how  to  avoid  dangers 
and  \an{j[uish  his  foes.  Consequently  those  objects  that 
appeal  to  his  instinct  of  self-preservation  produce  a  more 
protbund  effect  upon  him  than  upon  woman  ;  he  has  more 
recognition  and  appreciation  of  what  is  sublime,  what  is 
charming  and  appropriate  than  she  has.  Woman,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  the  one  w4io  carries  all  the  hereditary 
attributes  of  the  race,  she  is  the  one  who  is  responsible 
for  their  preservation.  She  does  not  do  battle,  and  is 
therefore  exposed  to  less  dangers,  and  it  is  not  necessar}' 
for  her  instinct  of  self-preservation  to  be  developed  to  any 
special  extent;  ])ut,  on  the  other  hand,  the  instinct  of  race- 
preservation  is  more  intense  in  her,  and  impressions  upon 
the  senses  which  affect  her  sex  and  maternity  centres  pro-  ' 
(luce  more  of  an  effect  upon  her  than  upon  man.  She  has 
tluis  a  keener  appreciation  of  what  is  beautiful,  in  the 
more  restricted  sense  of  the  term,  and  especially  for  what  ' 
is  pretty,  which  appeals  iiir  more  than  what  is  beautiful  to 
a  specifically  feminine  instinct,  the  love  of  children. 

Originally  the  sensation  caused  by  beauty  was  pro- 
duced b}'  natural  objects  alone ;  and  art  can  onlj-  arouse 
this  sensation  to  the  extent  that  it  succeeds,  by  the  means 
at  its  command,  in  awakening  the  ideas  of  natural  objects 
which  are  experienced  by  us  as  beautiful.  These  means  are 
direct  imitation,  symbolization  and  the  winding  up  of  the 
mechanism  of  the  associations  of  ideas  l}y  ideas  or  impres- 
sions on  the  senses.  Thus  language  can  arouse  the  sensation 
of  sublimity  as  it  awakens  the  idea  of  something  mighty, 
immeasurably  superior  to  man,  as  when  it  is  describing 
some  omnipotent  divine  being,  or  the  operation  of  enormous 
forces  in  natural  phenomena,  battles,  human  destinies,  ete. 
Architecture  can  produce  the  effect  of  sublimity  by  con- 


282  EVOLUTION  m  esthetics. 

striictiiig  mdomd  spaces  and  massive  edifices  of   such 
colossal  diiiiensions  that  the  ol>scrver  feels  himself  as  smal 
and  iee!)le  in  comparison  with  them  as  with  the  primeval 
forest  or  the  everlasting  hills.     A  work  of  art  produces 
the  effect  of  appropriateness  when  it  prochmns  its  purpose 
and  its  laws  of  being  in  its  visible  form,  wliich  it  only  does 
when  it  recalls  familiar  natural  objects  to  our  remem- 
brance, whose  purpose  long  exiierience  has  made  tannhar 
to  us,  and  whose  laws  of  being-always  with  the  exception 
of  the  ultimate  cause-^we  are  able  to  divine.     The  forms 
of  organic  animal  and  plant  life,  the  outlines  of  crystals, 
and  the  groupings  of  the  larger  accumulations  ot  matter 
as  controlled  l>y  the  laws  of  mechanics,  are  the  familiar 
and  comprehensible  natural  pheiiimiena,  which  the  pro- 
ductions of  art  must  resemble  in  order  to  be  recognized  as 
appropriate  and  enjoyed  as  beautiful.     It  is  not  withm  the 
iK)wer  of  each  separate  art  to  impart  all  the  esthetic  im- 
pressions, but  only  those  which  are  associated  with   the 
objects  it  is  able  to  imitate  or  recall  to  the  spectator  s 
remembrance.     For  instance,  architecture  is  not  able  to 
produce  the  impression  of  beauty  in  its  narrower  sense, 
that  is,  to  incite  the  sex  centre  to  activity,  except  by  resort- 
ing to  sculpturesque  ornament,  when  it  is  no  longer  archi- 
tecture    Music  can  not  produce  the  effect  of  prettiness, 
because  it  is  not  able  to  imitate  the  essential  characteris- 
tics of  the  sight  of  childhood,  nor  to  suggest  them  by  any 

association  of  ideas.  ,       .|.  -. 

I  have  thus  defined  aesthetics  in  general  outlmes  as  it 
is  found  in  nature  and  evolution,  and  shown  the  needless- 
ness  of  introducing  any  transcendental  element  to  explani 
the  sensation  of  the  teautiful.  And  if  now  some  patient 
commentator  chooses  to  spin  out  these  leading  thoughts 
into  a  three  volume  compeadinm,  lie  has  my  best  wishes 
for  his  8uooes9« 


SYMMETRY. 


We  will  begin  by  establishing  the  fact  that  there  is 
not  a  single  example  of  perfect  symmetry  in  all  nature, 
that  is,  of  a  form,  which  repeats  with  absolute  regularity 
the  same  disposition  of  parts  on  both  sides  of  an  imaginary 
line  through  the  middle.  Even  those  natural  objects  to 
which  with  Lhe  least  constraint  we  are  able  to  ascri]>e  a  law 
of  symmetry,  such  as  crystals,  flowers,  leaves  set  in  two 
rows,  and  those  animals  that  develope  to  the  right  and  left 
from  a  longitudinal  axis,  are  not  really  symmetrical,  and 
in  fact,  c:ui  not  be  cut  into  two  or  more  parts  that  would 
exacll\-  cover  each  other.  Everything  which  we  are  able 
to  perceive  with  our  senses,  is  irregular.  It  differs  in  some 
unprecedented  manner  to  a  more  or  less  degree,  from  the 
design  which  the  human  mind  imputes  to  it ;  it  is  perpetu- 
ally rebelling  with  greater  or  less  violence  against  the  law 
by  wliicli  we  like  to  believe  it  is  governed.  Not  a  single 
heavenly  body  is  mathematicall}'  round,  not  a  single  orbit 
conforms  precisely  to  the  scientific  formula  we  have  laid 
down  for  it.  Not  a  single  human  face  appears  exactly  the 
same  on  the  right  side  as  on  the  left,  no  bird  has  two 
wings  entirely  alike.  And  this  universal  lack  of  symme- 
try, or  asymmetry,  prevails  not  only  in  those  objects  wiiieh 
we  can  perceive  with  the  naked  eye,  but  in  the  inmost  and 
most  secret  dispositions  of  matter,  especially  in  its  organic; 
combinations.  The  fact  that  a  ray  of  light  on  its  way  is 
diverted   in  the   most  diverse  angles,   in  netting  free 


284 


STJBIKTUV. 


BEAUTY   A    LACK   OF    SYM3IETRV. 


285 


different  kinds  of  organic  matter,  mid  deflected  to  the  riglit 
and  aguin  U.  the  ld1  by  a  body  that  is  .ppareiilly  the  same  in 
its  ehemieal  eompositiou,  i.  chumetl  by  Pasteur  as  a  proof 
of  the  foet  that  atoms  are  disposed  in  the  molecules  with  a 
hiek  of  symmetry  in  the  design,  and  he  announces  as  the 
cause  of  this,  that  the  natural  forces  which  produce  the 
amingement  of  the  atoms  and  .nolecules-heat,  liglit,  elee- 
tricitv.  attraction,  etc.-are  also  asymmetrical  He  devcrl- 
opes'this  idea  further,  and  even  ventures  to  assert  that  lile 
is  ultimatelv  asvmmetry,  and  that  we  shall  be  al»le  to  con- 
tmi  life  in  our  retorts  out  of  simple  primeval  matter  when 
we  shall  havtj  learned  to  emi>loy  :isyrametrical  torccs. 

1  must  rontess  lluvt  these  ideas  seem  to  me  to  pertam 

--  •  41.,..   11. ..II    i,i  clifiiiiisli-v    moi'haiiifs  and 

to  rayslici?<in   nitliiT   Umn    U)   (Ju.iiiimi.\, 

bioloL'v.     1  iiin  not  eeiUiin  as  to  what  is  meant  l.y  an 
asvminetiieal  force  or  the  oijeration  of  such  a  force.     But 
be"  the  cause  what  it  may,  the  fact  is  establishe.1  that 
nat.uv  knows  no  symmetry.     It  i^^  an  invention  of  the 
Innnan  min.1,  never  snggestol  l.y  any  cscn.phfication  of  iL 
Man  c.'eat^d  it  entirely  in  himself.     Art  has  an  mstnictiyc 
consciousness  of  this,  and  in  its  highest  efforts  seeks  U, 
follow  the  seemingly  whimsical  lack  of  symmetry  of  natun'. 
Whenever  it  is  symmetrical,  it  ceases  to  prwluce  a  chann 
in"  effect     Natmc  pi-oduces  the  stream,  whose  serpentine 
course  shows  varying  lines  at  every  step  ;  art  creates  the 
canal,  the  realization  of  a  geometrical  formula,  which  does 
not  show  from  one  end  to  the  other  any  unexpected  devia- 
tions from  the  design  of  its  construction,  which  can  be 
m:(^nized  in  the  course  of  a  few  steps.     Every  step  in  the 
forest  brings  a  suri^rise,  and  one  has  only  to  turn  l.is  heml 
to  receive  a  new  impression.     A  French  garden  is  like  a 
carpet  with  the  same  pattern  repeated  on  ewry  square 
yard,  which  reveals  a  poverty  in  its  design  ,f  enough   b 
unrollcHl,  althongh  the  first  yanl  may  be  designed  veij"  elab- 


oratel}*.  What  is  asymmetrical  pleases  man's  taste,  while 
what  is  symwetrical  arouses  an  unpleasant  sensation  in 
him.  He  prefers  these  asymmetrical  approximations  to 
nature,  even  in  human  productions,  to  the  symmetrical 
creations,  unless  his  taste  is  dwarfed  or  perverted.  We 
consider  the  roads  winding  in  capricious  curves  over 
mountains  and  through  valleys  incomparabl}'  more  beauti- 
ful than  the  straight  railroad,  drawn  by  line;  an  English 
park  with  its  artificial  wildness  far  more  charming  than 
Lenotre's  improvements;  a  Morris  tapestr3*  with  its  un- 
pruned  climbing  vines,  flowers  and  leaf  work  more  inter- 
esting than  wall  paper  in  the  French  rococo  st3'le;  the 
Gothic  cathedral,  in  whose  rose-windows  and  gargojies  the 
architect's  creative  imagination  rioted  at  will,  where  not  a 
sini!:le  flourish  resembles  another,  no  bit  of  re«jular  work  is 
precisely  like  the  rest,  produces  an  effect  infinitely  more 
charming  than  that  of  the  Grecian  temple,  all  whose  col- 
umns look  exactly  like  every  other  column,  which  is  the 
same  in  the  rear  as  in  front,  the  same  to  the  right  as  to 
the  left,  and  which  might  be  turned,  like  a  good  piece  of 
cloth,  without  its  appearance  being  altered  in  the  least. 
We  admire  a  portrait  which  faithfully  reproduces  all  the 
irregularities  of  an  individuals  features,  and  smile  con- 
temptuously at  the  best-drawn  fashion  plate  with  its 
expressionless, — because  so  painfully  symmetrical — ideal 
heads.  The  great  success  attained  by  Japanese  art  in 
Europe  is  due  to  its  asymmetrical  character.  A  servile 
imitation  of  nature,  it  follows  it  in  its  apparently  arbitrary 
fancies.  It  contemns  the  golden  mean  which  human  beings 
have  invented — which  is  more  speculation  than  a  sense 
for  the  beautiful — and  never  t\"rannically  imposes  any 
formula  upon  a  human  figure  which  is  not  originally 
its  own. 

But,  as  symmetry  is  not  a  natural  form  of  growth  and 


i^' 


286 


SYllMETBY. 


ATTENTION. 


287 


iiE>  it  does  Bot  appeal  to  us  as  beauty,  we  are  led  to  inquire 
how  tlie  Iiuiuao  mind  happened  to  conceive  tliB  idea  of  it, 
and  to  which  of  its  necessities  it  corresponds. 

The  reph'  to  this  inquiry  is  found  in  the  fundamental 
peculiarities  of  man's  intellectual  activity. 

In  the  first  place,  we  have  the  habit  of  causal  thought. 
Back  of  the  phenomenon  apparent  to  our  senses  we  sur- 
mise some  immaterial  element,  entirely  beyond  all  direct 
obseiTation,  which  we  designate  the  cause,  the  sufficient 
reason,  or  the  law,  as  we  choose,  and  to  which  the  different 
philosophers  have  applied  other  terms,  as  for  instance, 
when  Schopenhauer  calls  it  will,  Frohscharamer,  imagina- 
tion, etc.  No  one  has  ever  actually  recognized  a  cause  as 
sucli.  We  have  only  observed  phenomena  succeeding  each 
otlier  without  any  real  dependence  between  them.  Their 
connection  by  means  of  some  tie  not  manifest  to  the 
senses,  of  cause  and  effect,  is  exclusively  the  result  of  our 
habits  of  thought.  We  see  the  lightning  and  we  hear  the 
thunder.  AVe  also  notice  that  as  a  rule  they  appear  one 
after  the  other.  But  that  a  chain  issues  from  the  light- 
ning which  drags  the  thunder  along  after  it,  this  we  neither 
see  nor  hear,  we  are  not  informed  of  it  by  any  of  the  senses 
which  convey  the  phenomena  of  the  lightning  and  the 
thunder  themselves  to  our  consciousness ;  it  is  added  by 
our  brain,  entirely  on  its  own  account,  to  these  phenomena. 

This  habit  of  causality  has  caused  us  to  attribute  to 
the  immaterial  element  of  the  phenomenon,  the  element 
not  apparent  to  the  senses  in  any  way,  the  supposed  or 
imaginary  cause,  an  importance  greater  than  that  we  attril>- 
ute  to  the  phenomenon  itself.  This  is  natural.  The  de- 
sign which  we  ascribe  to  the  phenomenon  is  a  production 
of  our  own  brain  and  can  be  perceived  directly  by  the  con- 
sciousness without  the  intervention  of  the  senses,  while  the 
phenomenon  itself  proceeds  outside  of  our  consciousness, 


and  is  only  transmitted  to  the  consciousness  by  tlie  senses ; 
but  what  we  create  in  ourselves,  what  is  evolved  before 
the  eyes  of  the  thinking  Ego,  as  it  were,  what  is  per- 
ceived without  any  intervention  on  the  part  of  the  senses, 
must  seem  of  necessity  more  real,  more  essential  and  more 
vivid  to  this  Ego,  than  the  phenomenon  which  occurs  out- 
side of  tlie  Ego  and  is  never  thoroughly  perceived  in  all 
its  details.  When,  therefore,  the  phenomenon,  as  it  is  per- 
ceived by  our  senses,  and  transmitted  to  our  consciousness, 
does  not  exactly  coincide  with  its  plan  or  law,  as  our  brain 
has  contrived  it,  we  calmly  sacrifice  the  phenomenon 
to  the  law,  we  falsify  the  former  to  save  the  latter,  we 
give  more  credence  to  the  inward  workings  of  our  l)rain 
than  to  our  senses,  and  compel  our  perception  to  accom- 
modate itself  to  what  we  have  invented.  We  see,  for 
instance,  a  crystal,  a  cube,  one  of  the  simplest  forms  of 
crystallization.  Three  sides  of  the  crystal  are  regular, 
the  three  others  are  not.  \\c  have,  however,  evolved  a 
plan  in  our  minds  for  this  phenomenon,  which  requires 
six  equal  square  planes,  twelve  edges  of  equal  length, 
and  eight  right-angled  corners  with  three  plane  surfaces 
each.  The  crystal  we  see  before  us  does  not  correspond 
with  this  plan  we  invented  for  it.  AVe  do  not  hesitate  an 
instant  in  our  assumption  that  the  phenomenon  is  wrong 
and  our  invention  right,  and  say  to  ourselves  :  ''  This  crystal 
was  intended  to  become  a  cube.  But  the  material  has  not 
carried  out  the  idea.  It  is  our  part,  therefore,  to  help  out 
the  material  and  to  give  it  the  shape  which  it  strove  to 
but  could  not  assume,"  and  so  placidly  and  self-satisfied, 
we  see  in  the  form — which  is  a  phenomenon  in  itself  and 
differs  entirely  from  a  cube— a  cube. 

We  are  now  in  the  most  secret  work-room  of  human 
thought,  and  I  beg  the  reader  to  Lave  a  little  patience 
while  we  look  around  us  more  attentively.    Attention  is 


QQQ 


SYMMETRY. 


an  iiidispeiisfil>l«  prereqnisite  of  all  labor  on  the  part  of  the 
eonscioiisness.  In  this  we  have  to  imagine  the  most  ani- 
mated activity  of  certjiin  nerve  fibres  and  cells  in  the  brain, 
owing  to  a  more  copious  suppl.y  of  blood,  while  all  the 
other  cells  and  fibres  receive  less  blood,  and  are  therefore 
more  feebly  nourished,  and  hence  are  completely  at  rest  or 
do  their  work  languidly.  A  stronger  impression  on  the 
senscb  imparts  a  stronger  stimulus  to  the  brain  fibres  and 
cells  appointed  to  rewive  it  and  rouses  them  from  their 
ipiiescent  state,  as  it  were,  while  a  feebler  impression 
allows  tliem  to  remain  torpid.  The  stronger  impression 
therefore  attracts  our  attention  and  reaches  our  conscious- 
ness, whicli  the  feeliler  does  not  We  have  already  seen 
in  the  chapter  on  genius  and  talent,  that  we  perceive  with 
onr  consciousness  only  tliose  elements  in  a  phenomenon 
which  produce  the  strongest  impression  upon  our  senses, 
and  thus  attract  our  attention.  The  example  I  mentioned 
to  illustrate  this  fact  was  an  oil  painting.  It  is  the  optical 
element  in  this  obviously  very  complex  phenomenon  which 
produces  the  strongest  impression  upon  our  sense  of  sight, 
and  attracts  our  attention  and  is  thus  consciously  per- 
ceived ;  the  other  elements,  such  as  the  otior  of  the  oil,  are 
weaker;  they  do  not  produce  enough  of  an  impression  on 
the  appropriate  senses,  on  ll.c  sense  of  smell  for  instance,  the 
corresponding  perceiving  centres  are  not  excited  to  action 
to  a  sufficient  degree  to  arouse  our  attention,  and  hence  the 
consciousoess  does  not  learn  anything  in  regard  to  those 
other  elements  in  the  phenomenon  -oil  painting, "  antl 
consequently  when  it  is  evolving  the  idea  of  the  painting, 
it  merely  recalls  the  impression  on  the  sight,  while  it  over- 
looks entirely  tlie  perceptions  of  the  other  senses  occa- 
sioned by  the  oil  painting,  which  were  not  sufficiently 
strong  to  arouse  our  attention.  This  process  which  we 
have  observed  in  the  perceiving  and  evolution  of  the  idea 


THE   ORIGIN   OF    "SCHEMA. 


1» 


289 


of  an  oil  painting  is  repeated  in  the  perceiving  and  evolu- 
tion of  the  ideas  of  all  other  phenomena.  Some  one  ele- 
ment predominates  in  each  one  of  them,  while  the  remaining 
elements  produce  a  much  weaker  effect,  that  is,  attract  our 
attention  proportionate!}-  less.  Thus  we  are  accustomed — 
and  in  the  same  arbitrary  manner  as  when  we  are  imputing 
some  cause  not  apparent  to  the  senses  to  all  phenomena — 
to  make  the  predominating  element  of  the  phenomenon  its 
one  essential  element,  and  in  our  perception  of  it  and  our 
idea  of  it,  we  overlook  all  the  remaining  elements.  In  the 
defective  cube  of  a  natural  crystal,  as  a  cr^^stal  of  rock 
salt  for  instance,  the  element  of  the  cubical  formation  pre- 
dominates. A  few  plane  surfaces,  edges  and  corners  of  a 
more  or  less  regular  shape,  attract  oar  attention  and  w^e 
have  no  attention  left  to  bestow  upon  the  imperfect  planes, 
the  defective  edges  and  the  missing  corners.  The  conse- 
qnence  of  this  is  that  we  only  perceive  its  predominating 
element — ^its  cul)ical  formation — in  the  phenomenon  of  an 
irregular  crystal  of  rock  salt,  and  reproduce  this  element 
alone  in  our  evolution  of  the  idea  of  such  a  crystal,  al- 
though its  less  striking  elements,  its  irregularities  for 
instance,  have  their  own  importance  and  appropriateness, 
and. are  quite  as  essential  to  the  individual  crystal  of  rock 
salt  we  have  before  us,  as  those  parts  of  the  crystal  which  are 
formed  iii  aeeordance  with  the  assumed  design  of  a  cube. 

The  fact  is,  the  human  brain  is  an  imperfect  ma- 
chine. It  is  constructed  in  such  a  wav  that  blood  can  not 
be  supplied  simultaneously  to  all  of  its  fibres  and  cells 
in  sufficient  quantities,  they  can  not  all  be  sufficiently 
rifiurished  and  stimulated  to  attain  to  that  degree  of  activ- 
ity which  our  consciousness  perceives  as  attention  on  their 
part.  Only  part  of  the  brain  has  full  play  all  the  time ; 
the  rest  is  more  or  less  quiescent.  It  follows  as  an  inevit>- 
aW<*  result  of  this  imperfectness  that  we  are  not  able  to 


290 


SYMMETRY. 


pay  eqiitil  attention  to  all  tlie  elements  of  a  phenomenon,  we 
are  not  able  to  ijerceive  tliem  all  equally,  iumI  only  remark 
tliose  wliieli  predominate,  which  produce  the  strongest 
impressions  upon  our  senses,  and  summon  the  nourishing 
blood  to  tlie  brain  fibres  and  cells  assoeiatcnl  with  the 
senses  affected,  thus  arousing  tliem  to  a  sl:iti?  of  attentive- 
ness.  The  single  element  that  pro<lnces  the  profoiindest 
impression  upon  onr  senses,  seems  to  us  to  comprise  In 
itself  tlie  whole  plicnomenon,  and  we  apply  the  design 
which  we  liave  Jittiilnited  to  this  one  Clement  to  the  whole 
plk'noraenon.  This  explains  why  we  have  the  tendency  to 
schematize,  to  assume,  that  is,  a  certain  design  in  phenom- 
ena, to  trace  tliem  fiack  to  some  simple  assumed  cause. 
What  is  a  neJmmtr  It  is  tlie  tenn  used  by  Kant  to  desig- 
nate tlie  plan  or  law  of  f<niniition  whieli  we  impute  to  some 
one  arbitraril)-  selected  element  in  a  phenomenon,  and  into 
tlie  frame  of  wliich  we  endeavor  to  fit  all  the  other  ele- 
ments, whetlier  they  reliel  against  it  or  not  in  reality. 
This  tendency  to  ascrilie  a  nvlHuut  is  one  of  the  defects  in 
our  habit  of  thought,  wliich  is  explained  by  the  impcrfectness 
of  llie  Iium:ui  lirain,  alhi«led  to  alM)ve.  For  if  we  already 
have  a  lialiit  of  causal  thought,  if  we  already  ascribe  to 
every  phenomenon  apparent  to  the  senses  some  presiipiw- 
sition  of  something  not  apparent  to  the  senses,  we  ought, 
to  lie  consistent,  to  ascrilie  this  presupposition,  that  is,  a 
cause,  to  all  phenomena,  and  not  merely  to  tliose  we  have 
arliitrarlly  selected.  In  reality  no  [ihenomtnion  is  pre- 
eisclv  like  anv  other:  the  indivitlual  diversities  must  have 
their  causes  just  as  much  as  tlie  resemblances — if  we  once 
assume  tltat  these  latter  are  the  result  of  some  cause,  some 
law— and  we  not  only  liave  to  im|>ute  one  design,  one 
srhnmt,  to  any  phenomenon,  but  a  hundred  designs,  a 
Irundied  arhfwm,  one  for  each  element,  a  design  tliat  be- 
longs to  each  element  alone  and  to  none  other.    To  retain 


ALL   OUR   "SCHEMAS'   ARE   ERRONEOUS. 


291 


the  illustration  of  the  crystal  of  rock  salt  given  above. 
When  we  insist  upon  seeing  a  cube  in  the  irregularly 
shaped  object  before  us,  we  regard  none  but  tliose  parts 
which  are  disposed  regularly,  saying  to  ourselves  :  "  The 
cause  of  the  shape  assumed  by  these  parts  is  that  tlie 
whole  wished  to  become  a  cube.  The  schema,  the  design  of 
this  object  is,  therefore,  the  cube."  But  we  have  not  the 
slightest  riffht  to  overlook  the  deviations  from  our  scJinna; 
we  ought  to  assume  a  cause  for  theni  also ;  the  cause 
which  allowed  certain  planes  and  angles  to  be  defective,  is 
evidently  a  different  cause  from  that  which  shaped  the  other 
planes  and  angles  into  the  form  of  a  cube ;  in  reality, 
therefore,  the  crystal  before  us  did  not  wish  to  become 
a  perfect  cube,  but  something  different  from  this,  some- 
thing new,  something  departing  from  the  cubic  form,  some- 
thing which  is  the  individual  object  as  we  see  it,  and  noth- 
ing else ;  the  schema  of  the  cube,  therefore,  does  not  appl}' 
to  it,  and  it  is  a  mistake  when  we  believe  we  recognize  a 
cube  in  the  form  before  us.  But  we  make  this  mistake 
nevertheless,  because  it  is  not  within  our  powers  to  liestow 
at  the  same  time  the  same  amount  of  attention  on  the 
irregularities — which  do  not  strike  us  as  much — as  upon 
the  regularly  disposed  parts,  and  lience  do  not  feel  com- 
pelled to  invent  an}^  schema  or  cause  for  them,  as  is  tlie 
case  with  the  latter.  And  thus  all  our  classification,  all 
our  schenms  are  erroneous,  all  our  labor  of  associating  dif- 
ferent phenomena  with  each  other,  is  arbitrary,  all  our 
reducing  multiformity  to  uniformity,  an  acknowledgment  of 
our  inability  to  comprehend.  Nature  produces  only  indi- 
viduals ;  we  artificially  combine  them  into  species,  because 
we  are  organically  incapable  of  closely  observing  every 
single  characteristic  which  is  peculiar  to  any  one  individ- 
ual, to  appreciate  it  fully  and  to  trace  it  back  to  some 
individual  cause.     If  there  are  such  things  as  causes,  then 


*ii 


292 


8YJIMETRY. 


every  pbenomenoii  has  not  merely  one,  but  a  hundred,  a 
thousand  different  causes,  which  have  combined  in  this 
wa}'  for  once  onlj^,  and  will  never  so  combine  again  ;  then 
every  plienomenon  is  the  resulting  effect  of  countless  influ- 
ences, all  of  equal  importance,  as  the  phenomenon  would 
have  to  be  something  different  from  what  it  is,  if  onl}'  a 
single  one  of  these  influences  liad  been  lacking  or  found 
expression  in  another  way  ;  if  on  the  t^tr  hand,  there  arc 
no  causes,  then  every  phenomenon  is  an  independent  acci- 
dent, and  can  not  be  compared  with  au3'  other  phenome- 
non, but  must  be  judged  by  itself  alone,  and  regiiixled  as 
strictl}'  individual.  This  is  a  dilemma  which  it  is  impos- 
sible for  us  to  escape ;  the  logical  consequence  of  which  is 
lliat  in  every  single  case  the  mkenm  is  a  defect  In  our  habit 
of  thought,  and  prevents  us  from  seeing  and  comprehend- 
ing phenomena  as  the}'  reallj*  exist ;  for  if  there  are  causes, 
then  the  assumption  of  a  sehfTiw,  tliat  is,  of  a  shigle  deter- 
mined cause,  obstructs  our  view  of  all  the  otlier  causes,  of 
winch  the  individual  phenomenon  is  the  effect;  if  there 
are  no  causes,  then  the  assumed  schfftm  is  only  a  creation 
of  our  imagination  and  has  nothing  whateTer  fn  common 
with  the  phenomenon  itself.  However,  this  is  a  matter  in 
which  we  can  not  alter  anything,  and  if  we  are  not  willing 
to  accept  that  the  human  brain  is  capal»le  of  attaining 
to  a  far  higher  degree  of  organic  |}erfection,  and  that  some 
diiy  It  will  be  able  to  woA  throughout  its  whole  extent 
with  the  same  amount  of  attentiveness,  then  there  is  noth- 
ing left  for  us  but  to  resign  ourselves  to  the  inevitable,  and 
throughout  all  eternity  perceive  one  trait  with  more  dis- 
tinctness than  the  rest  in  all  phenomena,  and  confound 
this  one  trait  with  the  entire  phenomenon,  and  sacrifice  to 
it  all  the  other  characteristics,  to  elevate  it  to  the  rank  of 
n-sekemcij  and  recognize  in  the  phenomenon  the  realizatfon 
of  this  fekemn  or  design. 


THE    IMAfiTNATTON    A    KALEIDOSCOPE. 


293 


One  final  peculiarity  of  the  workings  of  the  human 
mind  yet  remains  to  l)e  considered.  How  does  the  mind 
go  to  work  to  invent  this  assumed  preliminary  ideal  i)lan, 
of  which  the  phenomenon  is  the  supposed  execution.  It 
follows  a  very  simple  method  in  this  task:  it  simply 
repeats  tlie  one  trait  which,  as  the  most  noticeable, 
attracted  its  attention  and  impressed  itself  upon  tlie  mem- 
oiy  and  the  consciousness.  It  thus  constructs  the  schemn 
of  the  cube  for  the  crystal  of  rock  salt,  by  repeating  the 
especial  outlines  which  it  noticed,  that  is,  the  regular  plane 
surfaces  and  edges,  until  they  form  a  solid  figure.  In  this 
way  tlie  mind  corrects  the  imperfect,  crooked  lines,  mak- 
ing regular  complete  circles  out  of  them,  and  completes 
thi'  defective  outlines  in  the  shapes  of  crystals,  flowers  and 
leaves,  making  schematic  figures  of  them.  The  imagina- 
lion  ai'ts  like  a  kaleidoscope  in  its  relations  to  the  impres- 
sions on  the  senses ;  it  repeats  the  phenomena,  irregular 
in  themselves,  to  form  a  regular  figure  of  them  ;  for  regu- 
larity is  in  fact  nothing  but  the  repeated  occurrence  of  the 
same  phenomenon.  The  process  in  the  brain  is  conse- 
(|ucntly  the  f<)l lowing  :  a  phenomenon  or  material  object 
is  perceived  by  the  intervention  of  the  senses  and  im- 
pressed upon  the  memory  ;  some  noticeable  trait  or  one  not 
especially  striking  in  itself,  but  frequently  rei)eated,  is  per- 
ceived and  retained  most  distinctly,  very  much  in  the  same 
way  as  in  GalUm's  family  photographs,*  so  that  those 
features  whic4i  are  repeated  in  the  different  faces  are  mpre 
prominent  than  those  which  are  individual  peculiarities  of 

*  Gallon's  family  photographs,  as  is  well  known,  are  prochiced 
by  expos! ni^  the  photographs  of  the  different  memhers  of  a  family  in 
successi(.n  "to  the  same  sensitized  plate— the  photographs  heing  all 
of  the  same  size  and  exposed  for  the  same  length  of  time.  The 
features  that  are  identical  in  several  or  all  of  the  single  photographs 
are  repeated,  and  thus  work  longer  on  the  sensitized  plate  than  those 


B4 


SYMMETRY. 


SYMMETRY  IN  ART. 


295 


the  separfite  faces,  and  tliiia  appear  but  once  before  the 
sensitized  plate.  If  the  judgment  now  wishes  to  convey 
this  phenomenon  to  the  consciousness,  to  remember  it,  the 
memory  supplies  it  to  the  judgment  in  the  shape  in  which 
It  had  retained  it ;  that  is  to  say,  it  only  imparts  to  the  con- 
seiousness  the  most  prominent  characteristic  trait  of  the  phe- 
nomenon, the  one  that  has  made  a  profounder  impression 
ui)on  it,  owing  to  its  repetition  ;  to  make  a  complete  phe- 
nomenon or  object,  liounded  on  all  its  sides,  from  these 
single  isolated  characteristics,  the  imagination  completes 
them  by  multiplying  the  cliamcteristies  supplied  by  the 
memory,  and  thus  pixwluces  a  kaleidoscopic,  and  there- 
fore regular  figure,  which  the  judgment  Iwcomes  accus- 
tomwl  to  consider  as  the  «chemn  or  plan— the  foundation 
of  the  plienomeuou  in  question,  owing  to  its  tendency 
to  assume  some  immaterial  antecedent  to  the  material 
phenomenon. 

The  conditions  of  our  intellectual  activity  as  detailed 
alK>ve,  make  it  easy  for  us  to  underetand  how  man  hai)- 
pcned  to  evolve  the  idea  of  symmetry.  Unable  to  be 
attentive  with  all  paits  of  his  brain  at  once,  lie  has  only 
lierc'cived  and  retained  iscjlated  characteristics  of  different 
phenomena  or  olijects.  To  recall  these  phenomena  after- 
wanls  to  his  mind,  he  completed  them  by  multiplying 
these  isolated  characteristics  and  thus  filled  up  the  gaps 
which  resulted  from  the  absence  of  the  rest  of  the  cliarao- 
teristics  which  were  not  perceived,  and  therefore  not  re- 
tained.   Whera  he  represented  it  in  art,  he  did  not  copy 

that  recur  less  freciuently  or  only  once,  and  hence  they  are  especially 
jwominent  in  the  composite  photograph.  In  this  way  an  average 
portrait  is  produced,  which  shows  those  features  peculiar  to  all  or 
most  of  the  members  of  the  family  with  the  utmosi  disiiuctness,  while 
those  recurring  rarely  or  but  once,  are  given  wiiU  a  lack  of  distinct- 
ness corresponding  to  the  lack  of  frequency  in  their  repetition. 


the  real  phenomenon,  but  the  kaleidoscopically  regular 
image,  consisting  of  repetitions  of  the  one  characteristic 
observed,  which  was  the  conception  of  it  in  his  conscious- 
ness. Every  symmetrical  human  production  is  thus  the 
embodiment  of  some  reflection  in  the  memory,  schematic- 
ally elaborated  by  the  imagination,  of  some  natural  phe- 
nomenon imperfectly  observed.  It  sliould  be  classed  with 
man's  first  attempts  in  the  line  of  art.  In  proportion  as 
man  (levelo[)es,  his  brain  is  capable  of  more  comprehensive 
attention ;  he  perceives  more  elements  in  a  phenomenon, 
more  factors  in  the  effect  produced  by  a  material  object; 
he  prints  a  completer  picture  of  them  upon  his  memory ; 
his  imagination  is  less  frequently  called  upon  to  substitute 
the  missing  parts  by  a  repetition  of  those  already  existing. 
Thus  he  sees  things  more  coirectl}'  and  more  exactly,  and 
when  he  desires  to  portray  them  in  art,  he  represents  them 
less  sehematicall}'  and  more  individually.  The  hastier 
and  the  more  superficial  the  observation  of  any  object,  the 
more  symmetrical  the  idea  retained  of  it  l)y  the  memory. 
This  is  true  of  individuals  as  well  as  of  peoples  and  of 
races.  Symmetry  never  appears  in  art  except  in  retro- 
grading nations  and  in  periods  of  decline.  Flourishing 
epochs  and  progressing  peoples  are  not  satisfied  with  the 
schf'mti  and  the  kaleidoscopic  multiplication  of  single  char- 
acteristics, but  endeavor  to  reproduce  the  individual  pecu- 
liarities of  phenomena  as  far  as  possible. 

This  same  tendency  experienced  by  the  human  intel- 
lect to  complete  its  unfinished  ideas  by  the  repetition  of 
tlie  elements  of  them  it  already  possesses,  impels  it  also  to 
other  psychic  phenomena  than  tlie  idea  of  symmetry,  or  to 
be  more  exact,  it  is  inductive  to  a  non-material  application 
of  symmetry.  Tlie  legends  of  Frederick  Barbarossa,  of  the 
Portuguese  Dom  Sebastiano,  are  l)ased  upon  this  fondness 
of  the  human  mind  for  syrametr}'.     A  part  of  the  life  of 


M 


296 


SYMMETRY. 


these  heroes  is  known  tx>  the  people,  and  is  engraved  upon 
their  memorj' ;  the  other  part,  the  end,  they  never  hap- 
pened to  know,  or  else  they  have  forgotten ;  so  in  order 
not  to  have  an  unfinished  eonccption  of  their  life,  they 
complete  what  is  lacking  by  repeating  what  they  already 
know  aiid  invent  a  continuation  of  the  destiny  of  these 
heroes,  wliich  is  maintained  in  the  same  character  as  the 
beginning,  with  which  they  arc  uhvndv  familiar.  These 
legends  are  therefore  symmetrical  formations;  the}'  are 
pi-oof s  of  the  (act  that  man  docs  not  confine  his  schemas  to 
visi!»le  forms  alone. 

Symmetry  produces  a  tiresome  and  disagreeable  effect 
upon  cultivated  and  healthy  minds,  l)ccause  it  does  not 
stimulate  them  to  more  animated  intellectual  activity.  The 
judgment,  as  often  as  it  perceives  a  phenomenon  or  object, 
longs  to  compose  some  law  of  formation  for  it,  to  invent 
some  $eh(mui  to  apply  to  it;  this  is  a  defect  in  the  judg- 
ment, it  is  true,  but  it  is  a  defect  to  which  the  judg- 
ment has  become  accustomed,  and  which  it  will  not  relin- 
quish without  resistance,  A  symmetrical  phenomenon 
does  not  leave  room  for  any  efibrt  of  this  nature.  There 
is  notliing  to  be  divined  in  it,  nothing  to  be  invented  to 
apply  to  it.  Its  law  of  formation?  It  procUiims  it  ver- 
l)osely  and  pedantically.  Its  Hchnna?  This  is  identical 
with  it  and  never  diflers  from  it  in  any  respectt.  There 
are  no  prominent  characteristics  which  can  be  retained 
and  reijeated  to  complete  the  imperfect  picture.  The  sym- 
metrical phenomenon  has  done  this  for  us  already  itself 
It  is  the  materialized  work  of  our  imagination  in  a  state  of 
perplexity,  and  therefore  a  cause  of  shame  for  it.  But  of 
course  the  same  reasons  which  make  it  a  source  of  distress 
to  active  minds,  render  it  a  delight  to  obtuse  and  indolent 
brains.  Any  one  who  has  never  observed  a  phenomenon 
or  object.  IV  ill  I.  sufficient  attentivcness  to  perceive  all  or 


SV.MMETKV    THK    PHILISTINE  S    IDEAL. 


20: 


several  of  its  features,  and  to  realize  that  tlicy  arc  entirely 
individual,  and  not  exactly  like  anything  else,  will  recog- 
nize precisely  what  he  was  able  to  see  in  nature  in  the 
symmetrical  work  produced  by  human  hands.  The  im- 
ages in  liis  memory  are  patched  up  from  repetitions  of 
single  crude  characteristics ;  the  world  is  reflected  in  his 
mind  symmetrical  and  schematic.  It  gratifies  him  to  see 
his  superficial  perception  confirmed  by  the  symmetrical 
work  of  art,  and  he  considers  the  latter  a  compliment  to 
his  shallowness.  Symmetry  will  therefore  forever  remain 
the  ideal  of  bcautv  of  the  Philistines  who  are  always  asleei) 
whether  their  eyes  are  open  or  not,  and  have  a  horror  of  any- 
thing tending  to  disturb  the  perpetual  siesta  of  their  l)rain. 
But  any  one  who  is  not  a  mental  Seven  Sleeper,  (the  German 
Rip  van  Winkle),  will  consider  everything  symmetrical  as 
a  caricature  of  his  own  defective  habits  of  thought,  and 
will  banish  it  from  the  realm  of  his  perception  as  much  as 
possible. 


WHAT   IS   GENERALIZATION? 


299 


^11!  I 


^^ 


GENERALIZATION- 


We  hiid  been  discussing  a  certain  nation  over  our 
glasses  of  beer,  and  had  got  so  far  as  to  pronounce  a  sweep- 
ing judgment  upon  tlie  character  and  the  pliysical  and 
mental  ijecnliarities  of  this  nation,  when  one  of  us  inter- 
rupted the  conversation  with  tlie  warning :  '-  Let  us  take 
care  not  to  generalize."  The  caution  was  unanimously 
accepted  as  proper.  I  was  not  inclined  to  criticise  it.  But 
generalization,  which  nia}  be  out  of  place  around  the 
social  board,  is  permissilile  in  the  silence  of  the  study. 

Let  us  take  care  not  to  generalize  !  The  warning  is 
unassailable  in  tlieory.  It  proceeds  from  tlie  realization, 
or  at  least  due  recognition  of  the  fact,  that  one  phenome- 
non or  olyect  can  not  give  iis  any  real,  but  only  apparent 
information  in  regard  to  another,  that  the  knowledge 
derived  from  one  phenomenon  will  never  apply  at  any 
time  to  another  in  every  particular.  Every  phenomenon 
in  reality  exists  for  itself  alone ;  it  has  in  ftict  no  connec- 
tion, iMjrceivable  by  the  senses,  with  any  other  phenome- 
non, and  if  there  seems  to  be  anything  of  the  kind,  it  is 
-iMJcause  we  have  artificially  created  it  in  our  mind.  To  com- 
prehend a  phenomenon  as  it  really  is,  that  is,  as  it  is 
cognizable  by  the  senses,  to  do  it  full  justice,  to  be  cer- 
tain that  we  only  perceive  what  is  actually  occun-ing  before 
our  senses,  we  would  have  to  face  the  phenomenon  totally 
unbiassed,  totally  ignorant  in  regard  to  it,  and  without 
any  prejudices,  that  is,  wc  would  have  to  forget  everything 


that  we  have  learned  from  previous  phenomena,  and  be 
careful  not  to  confound  any  image  we  have  previously  re- 
ceived with  the  new  one,  or  impute  to  the  phenomenon  any 
characteristics  or  associations  which  it  does  not  really  pos- 
sess and  which  we  transfer  to  it  from  other  phenomena. 
These  would  be  the  indispensable  preliminary  conditions 
to  approximate  the  truth  as  closely  as  is  possible  to  our 
organization.  This  would  be  the  way  to  ol)tain  fairly 
accurate  information  in  regard  to  the  events  occurring  out- 
side of  our  Ego,  and  to  allow  realities  to  produce  their  duo 
effect  u[)on  us,  instead  of  transferring  the  events  occurring 
within  our  Ego  into  the  realities  without,  and  peopling 
them  with  the  gay  pictures  of  the  magic  lantern  of  our 
thought,  thus  causing  us  to  lose  s'ght  of  their  ac^;ual 
significance,  wholly  or  in  part. 

This,  as  before  stated,  is  the  theoretical  presupposition. 
But  it  can  not  be  realized  in  practice.  The  circumstances  in 
which  alone  our  imperfect  organ  of  thought  is  able  to  per- 
form its  work,  are  directly  opposed  to  it.  In  the  preceding 
chapter  we  analyzed  the  exceedingly  complic;ated  frame- 
work of  the  habit  of  thought  which  led  man  to  the  iuA  en- 
tion  of  symmetr}.  We  have  seen  how  our  mind,  as  it 
perceives  that  phenomena  always  succeed  one  another,  has 
been  induced  to  imagine  some  connection  between  them, 
and  thus  sees  in  each  one  the  cause  of  the  one  that  follows 
and  the  effect  of  the  one  that  preceded  it,  and  how  the 
mind  has  finally  come  to  imagine  the  cause  as  something 
actually  existent,  something  essential  and  distinct  from 
the  phenomenon  itself,  which  is  realized  only  partially  and 
imperfectly  by  the  phenomenon.  We  have  also  seen  that 
the  judgment  constructs  the  non-material  cause,  which  it 
imagines  is  the  necessary  preliminary  condition  of  the 
phenomenon,  out  of  the  images  of  previously  apprehended 
phenomena  supplied  by  the  memory,  and  that  these  images 


GENERALIZATION. 

are  protiiiced  liy  multiplying  the  single  charaeteristies 
which    attracted    attention.      This  verj'   same    habit  of 
thonght  leads  lis  inevitably  to  generalize.     What  do  we 
mean  b}-  generalizing?    To  generalize  is  to  deduce  the 
future  from  the  past  and  present,  the   unknown  from 
the  known,  and  thali  of  which  we  as  yet  have  had  no 
experience  from  what  we  hav^s  already  learned  by  experi- 
ence.    All  of  this  activity  on  the  part  of  our  organ  of 
thought  is  arbitrary  and  wrong.     We  have  no  right  in  fact 
to  assume  that  new  phenomena  are  going  to  happen,  or  that 
they  will  resemlile  the  previous  ones,  if  they  do  happen. 
The  future  is  inaccessible  to  our  knowledge.     We  have 
not  the  least  evidence  that  there  ever  will  be  any  future, 
that  new  impressious  on  onr  senses  will  succeed  our  pres- 
ent impressions.     And  yet  we  do  not  hesitate  a  moment  to 
assert  that  tomorrow  is  also  a  daj',  and  that  it  will  be 
something  like  a  repetition  of  the  day  of  today.  In  what  way 
have  we  obtained  this  certainty?   Exclusively  by  our  habit 
of  thought.     Owing  to  the  fact  that  up  to  the  present  time 
a  new  i^erception  has  alwaj's  succeeded  every  perception, 
our  mind  has  become  accustomed  to  the  idea,  that  this  will 
always  and  most  always  lie  the  case,  and  when  it  seeks  to 
fill  the  empt\-  space  of  the  unknown  and  unknowable  future, 
it  jjeoples  it  with  figures  from  the  memorj',  that  is  to  say, 
with  repetitions  of  events  previouslv  apprehended, 

**CalI  on  the  present  clay  and  night  for  nought, 
Save  what  by  yesterday  was  brought." 

Gffithe  remarks  in  his  West-Eastern  Divan,  The  wai'uing 
shows  thought,  but  is  superfluous  after  all.  For  even  if  we 
were  longing  to,  we  could  not  demand  anything  of  today 
or  even  of  tomorrow,  except  what  ^^esterday  brought  us ; 
we  do  not  know  anything  except  what  we  have  already 
learned  by  experience;  and  what  we  call  the  future,  is 
nothing  but  the  reflection  of  the  past,  which,  in  oonse- 


THE   LAWS   OF   NATURE    SELF-DECEPTIONS. 


301 


quence  of  tlie  defective  vision  of  our  thought,  we  imagine 
is  facing  us,  while  in  reality  it  lies  behind  us. 

It  is  true,  our  arbitrary  and  mistaken  assumptions 
have  always  been  realized  up  to  the  present  time.  When 
our  ancestors  felt  iissured  that  there  would  be  a  future, 
they  were  not  disappointed,  as  a  part  of  this  future 
has  since  become  the  past  and  the  present,  and  a  long  list 
of  their  prophecies— founded  upon  no  actual  perceptious — 
ha'  2  since  been  experienced  l)y  the  senses.  The  events 
appear  in  the  manner  we  surmise  beforehand,  and  the  re- 
flection of  what  has  already  happened,  projected  into  the 
future,  becomes  an  actuality.  But  this  does  not  prove  that 
we  are  right.  It  is  and  has  always  been  merely  wild  guess- 
work on  our  part,  which  happened  to  l)e  correct.  We  are 
unable  to  produce  a  single  conviiicing  and  thoroughly 
reliable  direct  proof  that  this  will  continue  to  be  the  case, 
or  that  it  will  always  be  the  case. 

This  hal)itual  disposition  of  our  mind  to  generalize, 
which  is  due  to  the  organic  defectiveness  of  our  thinking 
apparatus,  is  the  source  of  all  our  formulated  knowledge 
in  regard  to  the  cosmic  phenomena,  of  all  the  laws  of 
nature.  They  are  therefore  nothing  Init  self-deceptions. 
As,  in  actual  fact,  we  have  not  the  slightest  knowledge  of 
the  real  essence  of  the  cosmic  phenomena,  and  really  do 
not  understand  a  single  one  of  the  so-called  laws  of  nature. 
Or  can  we  speak  of  comprehending  when  we  are  not  even 
able  to  establish  the  lacts  as  to  the  existence  of  any  cause 
of  the  phenomena?  If  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  cause, 
then  tiicre  can  not  be  any  laws,  but  merely  accidents  that 
repeat  themselves,  we  know  not  how.  But  if  we  assume 
that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  cause,  and  that  we  can  give 
it  expression  in  the  form  of  a  law,  what  is  this  cause,  and 
how  reads  the  law  which  is  the  name  for  it,  and  which  rep- 
resents its  operations.    The  man  is  not  living  who  could 


i 


302 


GENBRALIZATIOII. 


give  ii  nitional  reply  to  this  (|ue8tioii.     When  we  speak  of. 
natiiral  hiws,  nevertheless,  it  is  merely  a  pleasant  playing 
with  words  which  we  have  devised  to  help  ws  across  the 
insufferable,  tiresome  desert  of  our  ignorance.     What  we 
call  a  law  of  nature  is  simply  the  establishment  of  the  fact 
tliat  certain  phenonieua  have   always  occurred;    but  it 
neither  explains  how  this  came  to  pass,  nor  does  it  include 
any  proof  that  the  same  phenomena  will  always  occur. 
We  say  that  it  is  a  law  of  nature  that  bodies  have  an 
attraction  for  each  other,  and  that  the  force  of  the  attrac- 
tion is  ill  direct  proj^rtion  to  the  mass  of  the  bodies,  and 
inversely  to  the  square  of  the  distance   between  them. 
This  is  iucon-ect.     It  would  l>e  correct  to  8a>'  that  up  to 
the  present  time  we  have   always  observed  tliat  IxKlies 
had   ail   attraction  for  each  other,   in  direct  proportion 
to  the  mass  of  the  kxlies  and  inversely  to  the  square  of 
the  distance  Ijetween  them.     This  assumed  law  does  not 
attempt  to  explain  the  facts  obser\'ed  ;  it  is  only  a  pre- 
tentious way  of  expressing  them.    Neither  are  mathematical 
formulas  the  explanation  of  mechanical  phenomena ;  they 
are  merely  the  latter  expressed  in  different  terms  in  a 
technical  langnage.     Thus  Molidre's  facetious  physician 
infonns  Geronte,  who  asks  him  why  his  daughter  has  be- 
come dumb :     •'  Her  language  has  been  stolen  from  her, 
and  that  is  the  reason  why  your  daughter  is  dumb."     A 
law  is  a  command  wliicli  dictiites  some  action  or  refraining 
fr<im  action.     Tlie  laws  of  nature — that  is,  that  which  we 
«!i'signate  thus^are  commands  which  we  promulgate  after 
u'c  have  seen  that  the  action  or  refraining  from  action  to 
which  they  apply,  litis  already  t:iken  place. 

We  consider  it  a  matter  oi  course  that  those  phenora- 
liia  which  we  have  alwaj  s  observed  should  continue  to  be 
reiieate€l,  and  we  would  I>e  extremely  astonished  if  they 
wefe  to  cease  occurring,  and  be  replaced  by  others  differ 


EACH   niENoMENON    NKW    AND    ORKHNAL. 


303 


ing  from  them  in  kind.  This  is  another  proof  of  the  lack 
of  consistency  in  our  habits  of  thought.  If  we  were  log- 
ical, we  should  be  astonished  at  each  repetition  of  them, 
and  consider  the  deviations  matters  of  course  ;  we  should 
wonder  at  the  regularity  of  the  occurrence  of  the  phenom- 
ena, and  only  regard  the  lack  of  regularity  with  passive 
indifference.  For  our  senses  teach  us  that  each  phenome- 
non is  independent,  and  confined  to  itself  alone,  with  no 
perceival)le  connection  with  any  other  phenomenon ;  it  is 
then  much  more  natural  and  reasonable  for  each  phenome- 
non to  be  apprehended  by  the  senses  as  new  and  original, 
instead  of  renewing  and  impressing  afresh  up(ni  them  what 
had  been  previously  apprehended.  As  every  phenomenon 
is  something  individual  in  itself,  how  docs  it  happen  that 
it  l»eai*s  a  certain  resemblance  to  certain  others?  The  law 
of  nature— that  is,  the  pretentious  determination  of  the 
fact  that  phenomena  are  repeated,  is  not  the  explanation  of 
this  fact,  but  the  mystery  of  it. 

When  I  was  a  small  boy  I  used  to  know  and  play  a 
game  that  seemed  very  fascinating  to  me  then.  It  consisted 
in  the  dotting  of  arbitrary  points  on  a  white  sheet  of  paper 
by  myself  or  one  of  my  playmates,  which  the  other  would 
then  unite  with  lines  drawn  in  such  a  way  that  a  rational 
figure  was  produced.  One  of  my  small  comrades  showed 
csi^ecial  proficiency  in  this  game.  However  maliciously 
and  wildly  I  placed  the  points— a  whole  crowd  of  them  in 
one  corner  and  none  at  all  in  another,  or  a  whirlpool  of 
them,  or  a  number  of  them  at  regular  intervals— he  always 
succeeded  in  producing  something  with  his  connecting 
lines  that  had  some  meaning,  a  lion,  lor  instance,  another 
time  a  house  or  a  whole  battle  scene  with  the  most  remark- 
able incidents  depicted  in  it.  He  even  carried  his  art  so 
far  as  to  connect  the  points  with  different  colored  inks  in 
Y^}ou8  ways,  so  that  the  same  points  formed  red  dogs, 


GENERALIZATION. 


liiiic  swiillows,  green  brooms  :iiul  ytjllow  Alpine  Iiiiitlst^npes. 
Our  theories  in  regiiiti  to  tlie  universe  :irc  iiotliing  but  this 
game,  earrieci  on  on  a  large  scale  and  with  tragic  earufsl- 
ness.  The  phenomena  of  which  our  senses  ajiprise  us  an* 
the  gi\'en  points.  The\  do  not  represent  anything  rational, 
and  thcii;  is  nothing  to  show  an\'  comprehensible  connec- 
tion lictween  tliem.  They  are  Chaos  and  Tumiill  But. 
patient !\-  and  artistically,  we  proceed  to  draw  lines  from 
one  iioint  to  the  other,  and  behold  !  certain  figures  are  tiie 
result,  which  resemble  in  apjKJarance  something  already 
known.  Tliose  wlio  do  not  know  how  it  was  done  miiilit 
lielieve  thiit  the  figures  had  been  drawn  on  the  paper  from 
designs  j>reviously  outlined  liy  tlie  points.  They  must 
then  be  shown  how  that  which  first  matle  figures  out  of 
tlie  points  was  ad  tied  b^'  liuman  hands,  and  that  the  point 
as  it  stood  alone  on  the  paper,  was  mysteriows  and  unintt;!- 
ligible,  sole!}'  its  own  aim  and  purpose,  until  the  line  was 
drawn  to  connect  it  with  the  next  i»oint,  and  include  it  in 
the  slvetch  of  the  figure  evolved  in  tlie  brain  of  the  hoy  ph.y- 
ing  the  game.  Pliilosophy  is  always  doing  what  my  pluy- 
mate  used  to  ilo :  it  connects  the  stinie  given  points,  with 
inks  ofihtlerent  colors,  so  as  to  form  the  most  divei-se  fig- 
ures, and  every  theory  in  regard  to  the  universe,  ever}* 
system  of  pliilosophy,  prcxluces  a  diflerent  picture  in  the 
connecting  lines  it  draws  lietwcen  the  same  mysterious  and 
niiintelligiblc  facts  which  Iia\e  been  observed,  and  if  I  am 
conii>ellcd  to  do  so,  then  I  will  frankly  admit  that  each 
s}'stem  iind  each  theory  is  eiinally  legitimate,  that  is, 
ctpially  arbitrary  and  subje€ti\'e,  oul}'  more  or  less  pretty 
or  artistic. 

The  names  we  have  invented  for  our  arliitrary  gi'ueral- 
iziitions  sound  well  and  they  make  their  at)|>earance  in  si 
manner  to  inspire  confidence.     We  speak  of  hypotheses,  of 

IftWB  of  nature.    What  is  a  hypothesis?    It  is  » line 


A    CHILI  >  S    GAME. 


305 


we  draw  from  some  given  point  in  any  direction  we  choose. 
What  is  a  law  of  nature?  It  is  a  line  that  connects  two 
given  points  and  is  extended  further  in  the  same  directitm, 
into  the  unknown,  into  the  infinite.  One  single  fact 
observed  is  all  that  we  i'C(inire  to  generalize  it  into  a 
hypothesis,  which  can  not  be  proved  and  which  can  not  be 
refuted,  and  which  can  extend  from  the  fixed  central  point 
to  an}-  or  all  of  the  points  of  the  compass,  as  may  suit  the 
fancy  of  the  generalizer;  two  observed  fads,  between 
which  a  similarity  can  be  (letected,  arc  all  that  we  need 
to  formulate  them  as  a  law,  vrhich  we  assume  will  deter- 
mine the  conditions  of  sur'ceeding  phenomena  into  all 
infinity.  It  is  all  the  game  of  my  childhood's  days — draw- 
ing coherent  figures  by  connecting  iiVvlcpcndent  points! 

And  yet — it  does  no  good,  we  can  not  do  without 
generalizing.  We  know  that  it  is  arliitrary  and  we  know 
that  it  is  deceiving  us,  that  it  pahns  off  on  ns  what  is  really 
the  past,  claiming  that  it  is  the  future,  what  is  remem- 
l>rance,  as  divination,  that  it  proclaims  as  experience  what 
is  merely  the  imagination's  patchwork.  AVe  know  all  this, 
and  yet  our  organic  incompleteness  compels  ns  to  use  it 
constantly,  and  we  must  even  concede  tliat  it  is,  perhai3S, 
the  fundamental  prerequisite  of  all  our  knowledge,  and  cer- 
tainly makes  it  much  easier  to  acquire.  Every  perception 
is  more  distinct  in  the  consciousness  if  it  is  associated  with 
a  recollection  which  it  revives.  AVhen  we  have  seen  an  ol)- 
ject  frequently  and  thus  engraved  it  npon  our  memory,  so 
that  we  can  picture  it  in  our  imagination  with  our  eyes 
shut,  a  brief  and  fleeting  glance  at  it  is  all  that  is  necessaiy 
for  ns  to  perceive  it  witli  the  utmost  distinctness,  while  we 
wouhl  be  obliged  to  Icmk  much  sharper  and  closer  at 
another  object,  entirely  unfamiliar  to  us,  and  observe  it 
much  longer,  to  o!)tain  an  idcji  of  its  appearance  anywhere 
near  as  distinct  as  that  we  have  of  the  first  object.     It  is 


306 


flENERAWZATION. 


owing  to  this  ciiiise  tliat  we  reiul  our  own  liinguage  so 
iiiiirli  more  easily  and  rapidly  than  a  foreign  hmgiiage 
witli  which  we  are  unfamiliar,  although  it  may  he  clothed 
in  the  siime  letters,  and  lie  under  the  same  (?onditioiis  of 
type,  pa|)er.  light  and  distance  from  the  eye.     For  this 
reason  we  recognize  a  friend  at  a  distnnee  in  whicli  we 
would  hanlly  he  able  to  distinguish   the   features  of  a 
stranger.     Wundt  is  the  one  who  has  presenteil  these  tiicts 
in  an'^exeelleut  manner  in  his  work  on  logic,  and  classed 
tliem  among  the  conditions  of  the  association  of  ideas. 
Very   few   phenonjena   prmluce  an  impression  Ujwn  the 
senses  the  firet  time  we  hapi^en  to  meet  them,  distinct 
enough  to  enable  the  consciousness  to  evolve  a  clearly  out- 
linwndea  of  them.     We  must  perceive  thera  repeatedly, 
and  impress  them  upon  the  memory.     What  we  see  or 
hear  of  them  after  this  is  far  less  the  phenomena  them- 
selves, than  the  image  of  thera  retained  in  the  memory, 
wliich  they  conjure  up  liefore  tlie  mind.     This  is  true  to 
such  an  extent  that  our  organ  of  thought  frequently  niis- 
oonccives  ami  confounds  things.     For  instance,  if  we  find 
some  quotation  or  extract  in  some  foreign  tongue,  with 
which  we  are  thoroughly  femiliar,  iu  the  midst  of  tlie  (lor- 
maii  or  English  text  we  are  reading,  we  feel  impressed  as 
if  the  quotation  were  also  in  our  own  language.     "  Smtt 
ih'iitqm'fiirs!''  standH  there,  and  T  read  it  in  my  mind  as: 
**  There  is  a  limit  to  everytliing."    The  glimpse  I  obtain  of 
the  Latin  words  is  l)ut  fleeting,  and  my  consciousness  does 
not  peroeive  their  actual  foim,  but  only  the  idea  of  their 
meaning,  which  is  supplied   forthwith   by  the  memory 
aroused  by  the  impression  on  the  optic  nerve. 

This  mechanical  process  of  the  mind  explains  why 
generaliiBing  sometimes  facilitates  the  pereeption  of  phe- 
nomena. We  have  in  our  memoiy  Ihc^  picture  of  a  certain 
phenomenon  we  have  previously  observed ;  we  elaborate 


GENERALIZING   FACILITATES   OBSERVATION.  307 

from  this  picture  a  scJifmn  or  law  of  formation  for  the  ob- 
ject; if  now  merely  the  tip  of  a  phenomenon,  resembling  it 
in  any  way,  appears  before  our  senses,  we  have  all  that  is 
needed  to  call  up  the  picture  in  our  memory  l>efore  the 
consciousness,  when  w^e  at  once  can  apprehend  the  phe- 
nomenon in  all  its  details.  But  while  this  process  facili- 
tates our  task,  it  is  at  the  same  time  the  source  of  many 
errors.  For  it  leads  us  to  believe  that  we  see  "There  is  a 
limit  to  everything,'  before  our  eyes,  while  iu  reality, 
''sunt  deniquf  fima!''  is  printed  there;  that  we  l)estow 
more  attention  upon  the  Inward  schema  than  upon  the 
external  phenomenon.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  would 
pass  by  untold  numbers  of  phenomena— which  in  this  way 
we  perceive  at  least  defectively  and  mistakenly— without 
noticing  them  at  all,  if  we  had  not  already  a  schematic 
outline  sketch  of  them  in  our  minds. 

We  can  assert  without  exaggeration  that,  ns  a  rule,  we 
see  nothing  but  what  we  have  already  seen,  and  what  we 
expect  to  see.  As  soon  as  we  have  generalized  any  phe- 
nomenon, which  has  produced  enough  of  an  impression 
upon  us  to  attract  our  attention,  into  a  hypothesis  or  law, 
a  whole  multitude  of  facts  force  themselves  suddenly  upon 
our  vision,  which  before  this  we  had  never  noticed  in  the 
least.  Davaine  and  Villemain  observed  that  certain  micro- 
scopical organisms  make  their  appearance  in  the  blood  of 
animals  affected  with  mortification  of  the  spleen,  and  that 
tuberculosis  can  be  transmitted  from  one  animal  to  another 
by  the  bodily  discharges.  Ten  years  have  not  passed 
since  this,  and  bacteria  have  been  found  in  fifteen  or  six- 
teen different  diseases  in  man  and  animals,  and  in  about  a 
dozen  different  forms  of  fermentation  occurring  outside  of 
the  organism,  of  which  the  bacteria  are  the  cause.  A 
physician  observes  a  new  disease  which  has  never  been 
seen  nor  described  before  him.     In  a  few  months  a  hun- 


GINBEALKATION. 

drecl  cases  of  tlie  new  disease  are  reported  by  different 
physicians,  who  happened  to  run  across  them  in  that  brief 
space  of  time.     Heidenhain  discovers  that  certain  su8cei>- 
tible  individaals  can  be  thrown  into  a  strange  condition 
which  he  calls  hypnotism.    We  know  now,  barely  seven 
years  afterwards,  that  about  every  fourth  person  is  capable 
of  king  hypnotized,  and  we  stumble  against  some  hyp- 
notic phenomenon  at  almost  ever}-  step.    Did  they  not  exist, 
before  this?    Certainly  they  did.     But  we  never  ixjrceivetl 
them.   Why?   Simply  because  we  had  no  previously  drawn 
picture  of  them  in  our  niemor}^     In  this  way  generaliza- 
tion is  valuable  to  us.     As  we  deduce  a  conclusion  in 
regard  to  some  fact,  of  which  as  yet  we  know  nothing  by 
actual  exijerience,  from  one  already  cognized  by  the  senses, 
we  summon  up  the  latter  in  reality  tefore  us.    Phenomena 
are  constantly  swarming  all  around  us,  but  they  wear 
magic  caps  which  render  them  invisible  to  ns.    We  tear 
the  magic  cap  from  their  heads  witli  our  hypothesis.    The 
law  of  nature  is  the  hunting  dog  with  which  we  track  out 
the  cunningly  hidden  plienomenon.    The  danger  is  only 
that  the  dog  is  apt  to  "set"  some  sleeping  game-keeper, 
instead  of  the  partridges  we  are  stalking.     This  is  a  mis- 
hap  that  sometimes  occurs  even  with  the  best  English 
setters.    The  majority  of  human  beings  are  inexact  ob- 
servers  because  tlieir  brains  are  not  able  to  consider  any- 
thing with  sufficient  attentiveness.    Tliey  see  only,  there- 
fore, what  they  desire  to  see.    As  soon,  then,  as  some 
hypothesis  dawns  upon  their  vision  they  construct  an 
image  of  phenomena,  with  its  assistance,  and  apply  this 
image  to  everything  that  eomcs  before  their  eyes,  to  such 
an  extent  that  they  see  nowhere  any  facts  which  do  not 
seem  to  conform  to  their  h^ypothesis.    Here  is  a  single  ex- 
IMTiment  which  any  one  can  try  for  himself    Draw  four 
lines  of  equal  length  and  equal  blackness,  as  far  as  this  is 


INDITTION   ANT)    DEDtXTION   THE   SAME    PROCESS. 


301) 


' 


.1 


possible,  upon  a  sheet  of  paper  or  a  slate,  in  such  a  way  that 
they  all  cut  each  other  in  the  middle  and  at  right  angles, 
and  form  a  Latin  (an  upright),  and  a  St.  Andrew's  (an  in- 
verted) cross.     Look  at  the  figure  thus  drawn,  with  the 
predetermination  to  see  in  it  only  one  of  the  crosses,  the 
upright  or  the  inverted.     You  will  find  that  the  cross  you 
are  looking  for,  will  stand  out  more  prominently  from  the 
paper  than  the  other,  which  although  drawn  with  equal 
distinctness,  will  look  subordinate,  paler  and  more  iiisig- 
nifiennt,  streniing  to   be   merely  a  modest  api>eiida«ie  of 
the  former.     Some  false  hypothesis  wluch  happens  to  be 
the  fashion,  will  procure  materials  in  enormous  ipiantities 
to  prove  its  eorreetness  and.  based  on  an  apparently  firm 
foundation  of  facts  apprehended  by  the  senses,  will  pre- 
vail f«)r  IcMis  and  liundreds  of  years,  until  some  stronger 
bi'ain  comes  along,  eapal)le  of  greater  attentiveness,  and 
a1)le  to  (Observe  phenomena  with  his  senses  rather  tlian 
with  the  finished  i)ictures  his  memory  snpplie^>  to  his  eon- 
seiousness,  who  discovers  that  the  phenomena  do  not  eon- 
form  to  the  hyi)0thesis. 

1  can  not  ima.i-ine  any  more  amazing  instance,  relevant 
to  the  subject,  than  that  philosophers  could  discuss  and 
wrangle  IVn-  e(>nturies  as  to  whether  the  inductive  or  the 
deductive  method  was  the  one  to  be  preferred.  Indue-, 
tion  is  the  process  of  observing  facts  without  prejudice, 
and  drawing  conclusions  from  them,  which  are  after- 
wards combined  into  a  general  law;  deduction  is  the 
process  of  inventing  some  general  law  in  the  mind,  and 
applying  it  afterwards,  hapliazard,  to  the  facts.  Bacon  of 
Verulam,  is  recognized  as  the  father  of  the  inductive 
method ;  the  scholastic  philosophers  of  the  Middle  Ages  arc 
c(»nsidered  the  best  examples  of  deductive  reasoners.  But 
at  bottom,  the  whole  matter  is  merely  an  idle  playing  with 
words  which  all  mean  the  same  thing.     How  does  one  pro- 


! 


310 


QENERAIJZATIOIf. 


t*ee«l  lo  f'lnii  n  (le'liictioii,  tlnit.  in,  n  generalized  eoiiceptioii 
of  objects?  Of  course  only  hy  receiving  some  impression 
0n  the  senses  of  these  olijects,  even  if  it  be  bnt  ji  fleeting 
impression ;  by  olwervinjT  tlie  objects,  even  if  very  super- 
ficiiilly.  The  wildest  id,esi»  we  can  imagine  in  regard  to 
phenomena  can  not  be  conceived  until  after  we  have  fier- 
ceived  tlie  phenomena.  Tliey  are  tlnis  inductions,  nothing 
bnt  iiidnctions.  And  wiiat  is  inchiction?  It  is  to  draw  a 
conchision  from  some  inipn-ssion  on  the  senses.  It  is  the 
ehilwration  of  some  fact  actually  perceived  into  aic/i^iio,  a 
generalized  law,  a  finished  conception,  with  which  the 
ininil  is  ready  to  receive  all  similar  facts  in  future.  This 
inished  conception,  wiiich  we  already  possess  before  tlie 
new  imprcssitm  arrives,  which  is  not  deduced  from  the  in- 
dividual phenomenon,  liiit  from  some  precetling  one,  witli 
which  in  reality  it  has  notliing  whatcjvcr  in  common,  is 
declnctiou,  nothing  but  deduction.  So  you  will  please 
spare  me  all  your  argumentation,  for  it  does  n*>t  mean 
anvthing  at  all.  AH  our  thought  is  always  induction 
and  deduction  at  the  same  time;  it  comnuMucs  with 
impressions  on  the  senses  and  perceptions,  that  is,  with 
indnctlon,  and  it  proceeds  to  generalize  it,  to  elaliorate  it 
into  ideas  preceding  tlie  impression  ever  after,  that  is,  to 
deduction.  Tlie  astronomer,  calculating  the  orbit  of  a 
planet  in  accordance  with  Newton's  law  of  the  attraction 
of  gravitation,  and  the  C'ongo  negro,  who  believes  that 
Europeans  dwell  in  the  depths  of  tlic  sen,  and  rise  to  the 
surface  when  they  wish  to  come  to  him,  liecause  he  sees 
the  tips  of  the  roasts  of  an  approaching  vessel  appear  first 
aliove  the  horizon,  followed  gradually  by  tlie  lower  parts, 
and  a  clepartlEg  vessel  gradually  vanish  in  an  onler  the 
reverse  of  the  former,  until  the  tips  of  the  masts  are  last 
lust  to  sight,  reason  in  identically  the  same  inductive  and. 
deductive  way.     Both  observe  phenomena  and  deduce  a 


1 


THE   CONOO   NEGRO    ANB   THE    ASTRONOMER.  311 

hypothesis  from  them.     Both  add  certain  attributes  to  the 
facts  apparent  to  the  senses,  which  in  reality  do  not  belong 
to  them,  which  they  have  not  actually  perceived  in  them,  as 
they  have  no  existence  save  in  their  own  imagination.    We 
say,  to  be  sure,  that  the  astronomer  is  right  and  the  Congo 
negro,  wrong.     But  what  criterion  have  we  for  this?     The 
hypothesis  of  whieli  the  astronomer  avails  himself  agrees 
with  all  the  facts  of  which  we  are  cognizant,  while  that  of 
the  Congo  negro  does  not.     If  the  latter  knew  that  the 
European  is  constituted  as  he  is  himself,  and  that  it  is 
impossible  for  him  to  live  in  the  depths  of  the  sea ;  if  he 
also  knew  that  tlie  earth  is  round,  and  that  the  curve  of  its 
surface  is  what  gradually  intervenes  between  him  and  the 
sight  of  the  departing  vessel ;  or  if  he  should  go  once  to 
Europe  himself,  he  would  understand  that  he  had  been 
mistaken,  and  would  find  another  hypothesis  to  account 
for  the  phenomenon  of  the  sliip's  gradual  vanishing  from 
below,  and  its  gradual  appearance  from  the  top  downwards. 
And  wlio  knows  whether  we  do  not  content  ourselves  with 
the  astronomer's  hypothesis,  for  the  simple  reason,  that  we 
accept  it  as  truth  because  we  do  not  know  the  fiicts  which 
contradict  it !  Who  knows  whether  we  would  not  be  obliged 
to  abandon  it  altogether  if  our  knowledge  were  increased  by 
facts !     Who  knows  whether  better  informed  men  may  not. 
some  day  smile  as  contemptuously  at  our  present  hypoth- 
eses, as  we  smile  at  that  of  the  Congo  negro,  notwithstand- 
ing the  fact  that  it  is  thought  out  by  the  same  method  as 
the  attraction  of  gravitation,  notwithstanding  that  it  is 
founded  in  the  same  way  upon  the  observation  of  phenom- 
ena apparent  to  the  senses :  the  sinking  into  the  sea  of 
ships  sailing  away  from  the  land,  and  the  issuing  forth 
from  the  sea  of  approaching  vessels,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  it  is  thus  actually  inductive  reasoning. 

All  men  follow  the  same  method  in  their  thought,  the 


ll 


312 


OENKRALIZATION. 


THE   IRISHMAN  S   INCOME. 


313 


Congo  negm,  even  tfie  Aiistniliaii  diggers,  tlie  same  as  the 
erutllte  professor  of  pliysiciil  sciences.  Thiit  which  alone 
constitutes  the  difference  l)etween  them,  is  the  number  of 
facts  known  to  them  and  their  ability  to  observe  accu- 
rately, that  is,  the  degree  of  attentiveness  possible  to  them, 
which  is,  on  the  other  hand,  an  evidence  of  the  greater  or 
less  development  of  their  brains.  The  more  attentive  we 
are  capable  of  !>eing,  the  greater  the  accuracy  with  which 
we  will  apprehend  phenomena ;  the  more  facts  we  know, 
the  easier  it  will  be  for  us  to  avoid  ascribing  imaginary 
characteristics  to  them,  the  incoiroctness  and  impossibility 
of  which  is  proved  by  other  facts.  But  we  have  all  this 
tendency  to  generalize  tlie  single  phenomena  appreliended 
by  us,  to  associate  them  with  others,  without  tliere  being 
any  connection  apparent  to  the  senses  between  them,  and 
to  attribute  certain  characteristics  to  them  which  they  do 
not  possess.  This  habit  of  thought — the  consequence  of 
our  orgaeic  imperfectness — is  the  source  of  all  our  errors. 
If  we  allowed  phenomena  to  produce  their  due  effect  upon 
our  senses  without  interfering  with  them  in  any  way  with 
the  finished  pictures,  supplied  by  the  memory,  of  other 
phenomena  wliich  iiave  previously  occurred,  bearing  a  more 
or  less  supei'ficial  resemblance  to  the  former,  we  might  not 
know  much,  but  we  would  not  fall  into  ermrs ;  we  might 
overlook  or  imperfectly  apprehend  certain  facts,  but  we 
would  not  interpret  them  wrongly;  we  should  have  but 
few  ideas  in  our  consciousness,  perhaps,  but  none  of  them 
would  be  erroneous ;  for  the  error  is  never  in  the  perceiv- 
ing, but  in  the  interpreting,  and  it  is  the  latter  which  does 
not  pertain  to  the  phenomenon,  but  which  we  add  from  our 
own  resources,  which  the  senses  do  not  communicate  to 
the  brain,  but  with  which  the  brain  deludes  the  senses. 
We  cling  to  our  defective  habits  of  thought,  however,  be- 
c»ause  they  inspire  us  with  an  agreeable  sensation  of  intel- 


lectual wealth,  by  filling  our  consciousness  witli  ii  cmwd  of 
ideas,  which  do  not  allow  us  to  divine,  by  any  inherent 
characteristic,  whether  they  are  coiTect  or  incorrect,  whether 
they  arc  achcnids,  or  realities. 

An  Irishman  well  known  as  a  beggar  throughout  the 
whole  of  his  village,  walked  into  a  tavern  one  day  and 
ordered  some  roast  pork  and  a  hirge  glass  of  whiskey. 
When  his  host  expressed  his  astonishment  at  this  extrava- 
gance, Padd}  proudly  rejoined  :  "A  man  who  has  in  the 
neighborhood  of  a  hundred  pounds  a  year  for  his  income, 
can  surely  afford  it."  "What,  have  you  an  income  of  a 
hundred  pounds  a  year?  "  '•  Certainly,  an  English  gentle- 
man whose  valise  1  just  carried  to  the  depot,  gave  me  five 
shillings ;  and  five  shillings  a  day  amounts  to  a  hundred 
pounds  a  year." 

Ever}'  time  we  geim-alize  any  perception,  we  are  doing 
just  what  the  Paddy  of  this  story  did,  and  it  may  be  possi- 
ble that  our  wealth  in  knowledge  is  really  no  more  suli- 
stantial  than  the  hundred  pounds  income  of  this  Irishman 
who  reasoned  according  to  both  the  inductive  and  deductive 
method. 


WHERE    IS    TRUTH? 


II 


It  happened  one  eveninijj  tit  ii  purty  tlmt  I  found  my- 
self seated  beside  ti  Uidy  belonging  to  whut  is  culled  -Uie 
moneyed  iiristoenicy.'  As  it  was  imperative  upon  me  to 
entertain  her  in  conversation,  I  was  of  course  ol)ligcd  to 
sijeak  of  those  things  in  which  she  was  interested.  VA'e  had 
S(K>n  arrived  at  her  last  trip  to  the  watering  phices.  and  she 
was  describing  with  enthusiasm  how  delightful  hei*  visit  to 
Trouville  had  been,  where  she  had  exhibited  startling 
toilettes  during  the  day  and  played  liaccarat  in  the  Casino 

at  night. 

i  ventured  the  inciuiry  as  to  whether  she  could  not 
imagine  some  lietter  way  of  occupying  one's  life. 

"No,"  she  replied  decidedly  ^  "  when  we  are  doing 
what  atfords  us  eomi)lete  and  i)erfect  enjoyment,  we  are 
doing  just  what  it  is  right  for  us  to  do.' J 

'But  do  you  not  think,"  1  incpiired  further,  "that 
those  people  are  to  be  pitied  who  find  their  complete  and 
perfect  enjoyment  in  toilettes  and  nights  spent  in  playing 

baccarat? " 

This  remark  on  my  part  was  undoubtedly  impertinent. 
I  received  the  sharp  reply :     ''Mint  Dieu,  we  can  not  all  of 

us  write  books  ! " 

•'Very  true.  But  is  it  not  perliaps  a  nobler  and  more 
dignified  way  of  employing  one's  time  to  write  books  than 

to  exhibit  toilettes  and  play  baccarat?  " 

•JJjr  m  ifle^ips,    Om  In  m  ^>«tter  tbmi  the  other, 


ANTAGONISTIC   POINTS   OB'    VIEW. 


315 


Writing    books   amuses   some    people^    doing    the   other 
amuses  others.     I  see  no  difference  l)etween  them." 

"But  surely  the  majority  of  people  are  not  of  your 

opinion?  " 

"I  do  not  know  about  that.  And  besides  I  do  not 
care.  In  mt/  world  every  one  thinks  as  I  do,  and  I  am 
perfectly  indifferent  to  the  opinion  of  those  who  are  not 

m  it. 

/'•  But  tlie  best  and  the  foremost  people  rank  intellect- 
occupations  higher  than  playing  cards  and  gossiping, 
and  the  writer  of  books  is  ranked  higher  in  the  state  and  in 
societ}  than  the  baccarat-players  and  those  who  display 
magnificent  toilettes." , 

•■Do  you  think  so?  "  she  rejointHl  in  an  indescribable 
tone.  "I  have  never  noticed  that  this  was  the  case. 
Wherever  I  have  been  I  have  always  found  that  those 
whom  you  call  baccarat-players  and  toilette-displayers  were 
regarded  with  more  respect  and  consideration  than  the 
writers  of  books." 

I  was  as  totally  routed  as  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to 
be,  and  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  my  defeat.  Here  were 
two  antagonistic  points  of  view,  and  each  considered  itself 
the  only  correct  one,  and  neither  could  overthrow  the 
other.  The  reasons  upon  which  each  were  based  had  no 
power  to  alter  the  other,  and  not  one  of  these  reasons  bore 
any  unmistakable  token  of  absolute  correctness  and  superi- 
ority which  could  compel  every  single  human  mind  to 
recognize  it  as  truth  and  everything  contradictory  to  it  as 

error. 

I  am  ac(iuainted  with  a  lady  who  is  very  ugly  and 
even  deformed,  (she  is  lame,)  and  whose  brain  is  below 
that  of  one  of  the  more  intelligent  poodle  dogs,  by 
the  lengths  of  several  goose  heads.  But  she  enjoys  the 
pociety  of  gentlemen,  and  of  course  knows  how  to  provoke 


i 


I 


316 


WHERE  IS  TEt-TO? 


titteiiiioiis  troni  tliem  by  Ikt  frank  iiilvaiiees.  They  see  at 
ouec  thiit  she  enjoys  eoiiii)linieiits.  unci  thai  she  emi  liear 
any  junomit  uf  thein,  and  as  eompliments  are  now  even 
€i:eaper  than  1 ilackberries  in  Falsteff'e  day,  they  give  her 
ill  she  wants  of  them.  She  is  now  nearly  forty  years  oM, 
and  she  has  never  spent  an  unhappy  hour  in  her  life.  She 
is  ftruily  eonvinced  that  slie  is  tlie  most  beautiful,  the 
wittiest  and  the  most  fascinating  emlxMliment  of  femininity 
in  the  world ;  that  every  man  who  looks  upon  iier  falls 
desiMjrately  in  love  with  her ;  that  even  her  deformity  en- 
lianees  her  irrresistible  eharms.  The  gentlemen  all  tell 
lier  so,  l»ecause  she  insists  iiimjii  their  telling  her  things  of 
tills  kind,  and  she  believes  what  they  say.  She  has 
never  iuard  a  dissenting  opinion.  If  other  ladies  do  not 
sliarc  the  niplures  and  the  admiration  of  the  gentlemen  for 
her,  this  d«)es  not  affeet  her  selt-appreeiation  In  the  least; 
these  c»i!ier  ladies  are  her  enemies  because  they  envy  her. 
NoImkIv  will  ever  inform  her  that  she  has  been  a  l>utt  of 
ridlenle  to  the  gentlemen  all  her  Hie,  and  she  will  say  to 
herself  on  her  death  bed :  **  My  life  has  been  one  long,  en- 
tire,  endless,  incomparable  triumiihant  procession,  and 
with  me  dies  the  woman  whom  all  m}'  male  contemporaries 
pronounced  the  most  beautiful,  the  wittiest  and  the  most 
fascinating  of  her  generation."  This  will  seem  the  abso- 
lute and  entire  truth  In  her  eyes,  and  nothing  will  ever 
ai-ouse  the  slightest  suspicion  in  her  mind  that  she  may 
have  iMjen  the  victim  of  a  delusion. 

The  idea  occurred  to  some  young  men  in  Paris,  eol- 
lalMinitore  on  an  obscure  penny  sheet,  in  February,  1881, 
to  make  themselves  conspicuous  and  notorious.  They  con- 
cluded to  institute  a  ••National  Aijotheosis '*  for  Victor 
Hugo.  They  began  by  forming  themselves  into  a  '-  Victor 
lingo  Celebration  Committee,"  and  appointed  a  large  num- 
lier  of  really  distinguiahecl  pei-sonages— of  course  witUou* 


HOW   HISTORY    IS    WRITTEN. 


317 


having  previously  consulted  them — to  l)e  members  of  this 
committee.  The  imposing  list  of  names  was  published  in 
all  the  daily  papers.  The  latter  did  not  dare  to  refuse  the 
advertising  notices,  which  poured  in  upon  them  from  the 
committee  during  the  ensuing  month ;  for  who  wishes  to 
have  it  said  of  him  that  he  is  not  patriotic  and  has  no  sym- 
pathy for  an  illustrious  national  personage?  The  public 
was  made  to  believe  that  the  subject  under  discussion  had 
originated  spontaneously  in  a  hundred  thousand  different 
minds ;  the  authorities  were  compelled  to  take  a  personal 
interest  in  the  arrangements.  The  movement  even  carried 
along  with  it  a  number  of  naive  and  notorietj-seeking  people 
in  foreign  countries,  who  utilized  this  opportunity  to  see 
their  names  in  print  in  the  Paris  jouriials.  The  grand  dem- 
onstration took  i)lace  on  the  day  appointed.  Some  fifteen 
thousand  people  marched  past  Victor  Hugo's  residence ;  of 
these  alxnit  two  thousand  were  peddlers,  who  wanted  to 
do  a  little  business  selling  medals,  badges,  poems,  etc. ; 
ten  thousand  were  simply  curious  spectators  who  wanted 
to  see  the  fun,  less  than  half  of  whom  perhaps,  had  ever 
read  a  single  volume  of  Victor  Hugo's  Avorks ;  and,  finally, 
perhaps  three  thousand  harmless,  really  sincere  individuals 
who  had  allowed  themselves  to  l)e  wrought  up  into  a  gen- 
uine frenzy  of  enthusiasm.  The  next  morning  we  read  in 
all  the  Paris  papers  that  five  hundred  thousand  persons 
had  saluted  Victor  Hugo  with  rapturous  cheers,  that  Paris 
had  had  a  celebration  unprecedented  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  and  that  all  civilized  humanity  had  combined  with 
France  to  ofler  homage  to  the  greatest  poet  of  the  century, 
such  as  had  never  been  offered  to  mortal  man  before. 
The  foreign  papers  reprinted  this,  the  legend  was  distril)- 
uted  all  over  the  globe,  and  is  now  considered  everywhere 
even  in  Paris  itself — an  unassailable  fact.  Future  his- 
torians of  our  civilization  will  comment  upon  it,  and  seek 


i 


i\ 


iSlo 


WHEEB   IS   TKUTH? 


WHAT  WE   DO   NOT    KNOW. 


319 


in  Yaiii  in  contemporaneous  sources  for  anything  implying 
that  tlie  affiiir  did  not  proceed  exactly  as  the  press  of  both 
hemispheres  described  it. 

And  In  such  a  condition  is  truth,  when  it  refers  to 
an  event  that  occuiTcd  before  the  eyes  of  several  thousand 
witnesses  1 

But  do  we  fare  any  better  in  events  of  a  less  transient 
character  than  the  above?  What  do  we  know  of  the  circum- 
stances of  nature,  in  the  midst  of  which  we  live?  Those 
facts,  apparently  the  simplest,  and  those  laws,  which  we 
ionsider  the  firmest  and  the  most  securely  founded,  sway 
perilously  beneiith  tlie  foot  of  the  investigator ;  the  semi- 
efhicated  alone,  wiio  receive  tlieir  scientific  knowledge  with 
confidence  and  ready  belief  from  the  hands  of  inexact  com- 
l>ilers  and  popular  lecturers,  believe  that  they  possess 
reliable  and  unassailable  truths,  while  those  who  are  really 
learned,  who  obtain  their  knowledge  of  facts  from  the 
fountiuo-head,  know  tliat  there  is  perhaps  not  a  single  one 
that  is  established  with  such  certainty  that  it  can  not  Ije 
called  into  question.  We  discourse  fluently — and  often 
with  vast  self-satislactiou— of  the  distance  of  the  earth 
from  the  sun,  and  even  from  Sirius,  while  in  fact,  we  do 
not  know  even  the  leugthof  the  line  between  the  Washing- 
ton and  the  Cai^e  Town  Observatory.  There  is  a  difference 
of  more  than  a  mile,  or  about  one  ten-thousandth  of  the 
whole  distance,  between  the  calculations  made  by  the 
greatest  astronomers  of  the  age,  with  the  aid  of  the  most 
perfect  instruments  and  most  approved  methods.  The 
exact  length  of  the  astronomical  day,  that  is,  the  actual 
time  required  by  the  earth  to  complete  one  revolution  on 
its  axis,  is  not  yet  definitely  settled,  neither  the  exact  posi- 
tion of  this  axis,  that  is,  the  angle  formed  Ijy  the  axis  of 
the  earth  with  its  orbit.  The  estimates  of  the  heat  of  the 
sun  vary  by  200  to  20,000  degrees,  and  so  distinguished  an 


investigator  as  William  Herschel  could  propound  the 
theory  that  the  surface  of  the  sun's  nucleus  was  solid  and 
inhabited  by  living  beings  ! 

The  natural  sciences  have  thus  so  far  not  been  suc- 
cessful in  closely  approximating  truth,  and  certainly  not 
in  establishing  it  beyond  a  doubt.  And  this  too,  in  regard  to 
phenomena  which  are  continually  being  repeated  before  our 
eyes,  which  do  not  change  in  any  way  perceptible  to  us, 
which  are  patiently  waiting  for  man  to  pursue  them,  seize 
them,  imprison  thein  in  some  invention,  pinch  them  with 
tongs,  feel  them  over  with  fingers  and  instruments,  turn 
tliem  around,  empty  them  out,  gaze  at  them  inside  and  out, 
and  do  anything  and  everything  with  them  that  may  seem 
necessary  and  useful  to  him.  What  is  to  be  said  then  of 
the  historical  sciences  wliich  profess  to  discover  the  real 
meaning  of  such  phenomena  as  have  occurred  ages  ago, 
of  which  nothing  is  left  in  our  hands  and  before  our  eyes 
but  some  half-effaced  footprint  on  the  deep  sand,  or  an  in- 
distinct echo,  or  even  less  than  this. 

I  will  not  be  unjust  to  the  science  of  history.  Its 
position  in  the  encyclopedia  of  science  is  remarkable  and 
unique,  as,  contrary  to  all  the  rest,  it  does  not  work  by 
generalizing,  and  knows  neither  hypotheses  nor  laws  of 
nature.  It  is  the  only  one  which  conforms  to  the  condi- 
tions of  knowledge  detailed  in  the  preceding  chapter/  it 
endeavors  to  comprehend  and  portray  phenomena  as  they 
really  were  perceived  by  the  senses,  and  strenuously 
avoids  adding  any  characteristics  of  an  immaterial  nature, 
which  are  not  in  them.\  As  the  phenomenon  is  only  what 
actually  did  happen  of  exist,  and  the  interpretation,  the 
generalization  of  it,  the  association  of  it  with  other  phe- 
nomena,—simultaneous,  previous  or  succeeding— its  deduc- 
tion from  causes  outside  of  it,  the  tracing  of  it  back  to  some 
law  or  laws,  is  what  is  arbitrarily  added,  as  the  perception  of 


320 


W1IB.E,E   IS   TRUTH? 


THE    TESTIMONY   OF    EYE    AVTTNESSES. 


321 


tlie  plieiiomeiioii  by  tiie  senses  is  nil  thiit  comniunieates  any 
knowledge  of  it  to  us,  wliile  ever}'  supiiositioii,  everything 
we  ascribe  to  it,  etc.,  exiwses  lis  to  a  possibility  of  erixir — 
it  slioulcl  follow,  that  history  which  confines  itself  exclu- 
sively to  retaining  the  phenomenon  and  avoids  nscriliing 
anything  to  it,  and  abstains  from  all  snpiK)sition8  of  any 
kind,  from  principle,  ought  to  be  in  reality  the  most  relial»le 
of  all  the  sciences,  the  one  containing  the  largest  number 
of  truths  and  the  fewest  errors,  and  including  the  greatest 
quantity  of  material  phenomena,  and  the  least  amount  of 
subjective  imaginative  work.  Contrary  to  the  science  of 
mathematies,  which  can  easily  be  subjectively  true,  l>ecause 
it  is  nothing  but  one  form  of  human  thought,  and  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  external  events,  apparent  to  the  senses,  de- 
voting itself  exclusively  to  those  that' occur  in  the  conscious- 
ness itself  and  are  apprehended  without  the  intervention 
of  the  senses — contrary  to  mathematics,  I  say,  which  is 
sidijectively  nearest  to  the  truth,  history  should  be  objec- 
tively nearest  to  the  truth,  because  it  does  not  treat  of 
what  is  possible  or  probable  or  what  impresses  us  as 
necessaiy,  but  exclusively  of  what  is  real,  that  is,  the 
event  or  phenomenon,  because  its  subject  is  not  sulijective 
assumptions,  but  ol»jective  phenomena.  Yea,  it  should  be  ! 
History  would  be  all  this,  if  the  human  organ  of  thought 
were  not  the  defective  apparatus  that  it  is.  On  this  defects 
iveness  it  is  forever  being  shipwrecked  ;  all  its  endeavors  to 
attain  to  the  objective  event  are  fruitless  on  this  account. 
History  stri\'es  to  portray  occurrences  just  as  the}-  actually 
took  place;  but,  when  most  successful,  it  can  only  [Kirti-ay 
them  as  they  were  perceived.  But  the  conditions  of  all 
our  intellectual  work  are  such  that  the  perceptions  of  the 
events  c:ui  not  be  identical  with  the  e\ents  themselves. 
For  either  tlic  perceptions  are  so  insignificant  that  they 
do  not  arouse  us  to  a  state  of  attentiveuess,  and  hence 


are  not  apprehended  witli  distinctness,  do  not  reach  the 
consciousness  and  do  not  engrave  any  clearly  outlined 
picture  of  tlie  event  upon  the  meraor}' ;  or  they  are  im- 
portant, and  in  this  case  the  incipient  phases  arouse 
the  attention  to  such  an  extent  that  the  nerve-force  is  ex- 
hausted at  once,  the  brain  loses  its  abilitv  to  perceive, 
and  the  succeeding  phases  of  the  event  glide  past  the  eyes 
of  the  witness  as  if  in  a  confused  dream.  It  is  a  conse- 
quence of  this  fact  that  no  one  who  takes  part  in  anv 
great  event,  a  battle,  a  coup  iV  r^/^,  an  exciting  parliamentary 
debate,  for  instance,  ever  retains  in  his  memory  an  exact 
picture  of  the  whole  affair  from  beginning  to  end.  A 
thousand  witnesses  of  any  event,  taken  at  random,  would 
descHbe  it  in  a  thousand  different  wa^  s,  which  would  each 
contradict  the  rest  in  the  most  essential  points  in  the  most 
astounding  manner.  Nothing  but  a  machine  run  by  clock- 
work, which  would  expose  a  fresh  sensitizcMl  plate  every 
second  to  the  event  as  it  was  occurring,  and  thus  obtain  an 
uninterrupted  series  of  instantaneous  views,  could  at  least 
record  its  optical  aspect.  Our  organism  is  not  a  machine 
of  this  kind.  We  have  not  an  endless  series  of  continually 
fresh  photogTaphic  plates,  but  only  a  very  limited  supply 
of  tliem.  When  these  are  usctl  up  we  confront  the  event 
like  a  photographic  apparatus,  the  plate-holder  of  which  is 
empty,  and  we  are  obliged  to  rest  before  we  can  prepare 
any  new  plates.  For  this  reason  those  who  take  part  in 
an  event  are  the  most  unreliable  observers  of  it ;  for  this 
reason  the  testimony  of  eye-witnesses  is  onh^  true  sul)- 
jectively;  for  this  reason  history  is  without  means  to 
reconstruct  afterwards  with  the  aid  of  human,  subjective 
perceptions,  the  absolute  and  objective  truth  of  the  events. 
Of  course  I  have  been  referring  only  to  simple  histor}' 
thus  far,  whicli  only  relates  the  event,  without  making  any 
pretentions  to  explain  it.    It  is  the  history  written  by  the 


A 


"iSSfV 


009 


WHERl   IS  TllTTH? 


PSYCHOLOGY   AND   BIOGRAPHY   IN   HISTORY. 


323 


cliroiiiders  wlio  faitlifiilly  record  ihsit  it  rained  on  the  first 
day  of  the  month,  tliat  a  battle  ocenrred  on  the  second  and 
that  a  new  popfi  was  elected  on  the  third.     The  moclern 
historical  investigator,  however,  has  abandoned  this  primi- 
tive point  of  view,  which  made  it  at  least  theoretically  pos- 
sililc  to  apprehend  trnth  and  avoid  error.    The  modem  his- 
toriaii  not  only  wishes  to  reoonl  facts ;  he  wishes  to  explain 
Ihem  cdso.    Of  course  history  as  a  science  has  n<»t  l»een  able 
citlier  to  escape  that  universal  hal»it  of  thought  which  im- 
lM*ls  ns  to  add  transcendental  characteristics  to  material 
lilicnomena,  to  impute  laws  and  ascribe  some  antecedent 
cause  to  them,  that  is,  in  sliort,  to  play  the  game  of  draw- 
ing fi|?ures  by  uniting  i)oints  !t\-  arbitrary  lines,  and  the 
lioldest  8upiM>rters  of  this  science  arc  almost  willing  to 
transftirm  it  into  a  system  of  philosophy  l>y  8c4iematizing 
its  subject,  as  natural  [ihilosophy  scliematizes  the  phenom- 
ena of  nature.     They  would  like  to  refer  the  operation  of 
events  of  which  liumauity  has  licen  tlie  stage,  to  the  uni- 
versal laws  of  nature,  to  in\-ent  liyiwtheses  and  formulas 
for  tliein,  and  with  the  aid  of  these  to  proijhes}-  tlie  course 
of  events  in  the  future,  as  we  now  venture  to  pmphesy 
witli  the  aid  of  the  formulas,  hyi>otlieses  and  laws  of  our 
lihysical  sciences,  that  the  sun  will  rise  tomorrow  morning 
:ind  that  tlie  trem  will  blossom  in  the  spring.     And  they 
ai-e  right,  Iwsides.   Tlicre  is  not  a  single  reaiMin  why  human 
events  should  l>c  treatal  any  differenlly  from  any  other 
lilienomena  occuning  in  the  universe.     Is  not  man,  is  not 
humanity  in  general,  a  part  of  this  grand  whole  as  ranch  as 
the  quartz  rock,  the  meteor,  the  palm-tree?     Ts  not  a  human 
thought  or  action  an  organic  process  just  tiie  same  as 
digestion  or  reproduction,  as  the  migration  of  the  Iiirds  or 
the  winter  sleep  of  the  rodent;  is  not  human  thought  or 
action  as  inucli  a  dynamic  process  as  the  fall  of  a  free 
pl^ect  or  the  revolution  of  the  moon  aroond  the  earth?    If 


we  claim  the  right  of  not  confining  ourselves  simply  to 
describing  these  organic  and  dynamic  processes,  but  of 
schematizing  them,  and  uniting  them  by  a  transcendental 
tie  of  hypotheses  and  laws  into  comprehensible  figures- 
why  not  apply  this  same   metliod  to  human   ideas  and 
actions?    And  this  is  just  what  we  do ;  but  in  doing  so  we 
forsake  the  solid  ground  of  actual  occurrences  and  what  is 
actually  apparent  to  the  senses,  and  launch  forth  into  the 
transcendental  and  speculative.     In  this  way  history  first 
becomes  rational,  that  is,  in  this  way  it  first  comes  into 
correspondence  with  our  habits  of  thought,  which  we  have 
leanied  to  recognize  as  the  inevitable  results  of  our  organic 
imperfectness,  but' in  this  way,  it  also  becomes  at  the  same 
time  the  scene  of  action  of  all  the  subjective  errors  of  our 
organ  of  thought,  as  every  event  has  but  one  form  apparent 
to  the  senses,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  number  of  the 
transcendental  suppositions  which  the  human  mind  ctm  in- 
vent and  ascribe  to  it,  is  actually  unlimited,  and  actually 
unlimited,  therefore,  is  the  number  of  possible  errors. 

A  certain  school  of  historiography  explains  events  by 
the  persons  who  took  part  in  them.  It  attributes  to  external 
influences  merely  the  role  of  an  impulse,  and  locates  the 
actual  motives  and  motive  powers  of  historical  events  in 
the  minds  of  the  leading  personalities  of  the  age.  From 
this  point  of  view  the  science  of  history  becomes  psychol- " 
ogy  and  the  writing  of  history,  biography.  In  this  case 
mankind  can  be  considered  almost  entirely  independent 
of  nature,  and  the  historian  may  discard  all  ideas  connected 
with  any  general  laws  of  nature  or  any  changes  in  their 
equilibrium,  which  may  have  had  any  influence  upon  other 
organisms,  and  thus  also  upon  peoples  and  human  beings. 
with  this  for  his  point  of  view  the  historian  is  correct  in 
writing  history  by  anecdotes  and  in  allowing  the  decline  of 
great  empires  to  depend  upon  the  state  of  some  general's 


i\ 


WHEHK   m  TRUTH? 

digestion.  Then  Helenas  teautiftil  e3'es  were  the  cause  of 
the  Siege  of  Tro}- ;  the  French  were  defeated  at  Sedan  be- 
cause General  Wimpffen  had  incurred  the  enraitv  of  Marshal 
MacMalion  in  1869  in  Algiers,  hy  escorting  a  woman  of 
doubtful  reputation  to  a  charit}'  fair  presided  over  by  the 
wife  of  the  latter;  and  Scrilw's  comedy,  "A  Glass  of 
Water,"  contains  the  rcid  explanation  of  the  reasons  wliy 
the  War  of  the  Spaiiisli  Succession  proceeded  as  it  did  and 
not  otherwise.  If  we  go  a  step  farther,  and  agree  with 
Wim<lt  that  the  force  which  produces  the  operation  of  the 
human  consciousness  and  e\'olutiou  of  ideas,  resolutions, 
etc.,  is  undetermined,  viz.,  tliat  it  is  not  tlie  result  of  impulse 
from  without,  and  is  not  in  direct  pro|>ortion  to  the  strength 
of  this  impulse,  tlien  the  last  connecting  link  Itetween  man 
and  the  forces  which  operate  outside  of  him  is  broken,  and 
a  Iiistor}'  which  confines  itself  exclusivelj'  to  psychology, 
accepting  Wnndt's  tlieory,  can  represent  each  event  as  the 
outward  manifestation — not  traceable  to  anv  cause  nor 
dependent  ufjon  an3'thing  external — of  some  accidental 
and  arbitrary  pi-ocess  in  the  mind  or  heart  of  some 
iniuential  individual 

Another  school  of  historians  sees  in  events  the  opera- 
tion of  the  general  laws  of  nature.  I  will  call  this  scIkmiI 
the  natural  philosophical  one,  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
ps3'chological  described  above.  From  their  point  of  view 
one  iieople  makes  war  upon  another  because  it  is  hungry, 
and  not  on  account  of  some  whim  of  its  king  or  com- 
mander. The  individual  loses  liis  influence  and  is  lost  to 
sight  in  the  surging  masses.  He  tliinks  he  is  pushing,  and 
he  is  hems  pushed.  Proper  names  cense  to  have  any  value 
or  significance  and  iniglit  be  struck  out  fix>m  history  entirely. 
Ptoples  act  and  endure  as  the  trees  blossom  in  the  spring 
and  shed  their  leaves  in  the  fall ;  the  events  in  history  are 
the  eicpwssioii  of  the  operation  of  cosmical  laws,  and  the 


INDIVIBITALITY   IN   HISTORY. 


325 


4 


destinies  of  nations  are  not  determined  in  some  beauty's 
boudoir,  nor  in  the  study  of  some  talented  prime  minister, 
but  very  suitably  by  the  stars.     Astrology  is  sustained  in 
nn  unexpected  way— not  as  it  is  practiced  in  reality,  but  as 
:i  theory,  a  dnwning  of  the  actual  relations  of  things,  and 
we  must  no  longer  sulile  when  we  hear  uneducated  persons 
express  their  apprehension   of   wars,  at   the   sight  of   a 
eomet.     We  may  even  be  justified  in  believing  that  the 
apiK'arance  of  spots  on  the  sun  coincides  with  the  great 
commercial  crises  !     Of  course  we  do  not  imagine  that  the 
spots  on  the  sun  have  any  direct  influence  upon  the  prices 
in  the  markets,  or  that  they  suppress  in  man  all  inclination 
to  Iniy ;  we  do  not  assume  the  effect  to  be  in  any  way 
direct;  but  we  do  not  know  the  intermediate  links  in  the 
connecting  chain,  only  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  it. 
Why  then  should  it  not  be  possible  to  imagine  that  the 
astronomic  phenomena,  the  processes  occurring  in  the  sun, 
tlie  planetary  system,  and  in  the  universe,  might  ultimately 
produce  certain  states  of  excitement  in  man,  and  thus  lead 
to  wars,  revolutions,  and  epo(;hs  of  progress  and  decadence? 
It  is  not  necessary  to  confine  ourselves  so  exclusively 
to  either  of  these  tAVO  points  of  view ;  we  can  stand  with 
one  foot  upon  each,  and  say  that  the  general  laws  of  nature 
are  in  fact  the  motive  power  in  historical  events,  as  they 
are  in  all  other  phenomena,  but  that  the  direction  in  which 
this  power  is  applied  is  determined  by  isolated  exceptional 
beings.     This  allows  individuality  to  resume  its  traditional 
rigla  to  a  partial  extent ;  it  does  not  create  history  as  a 
poet  evolves  dramas  out  of  his  imagination,  but  it  guides 
the  course  of  nations  as  an  engineer  drives  his  train  along 
the  given  track,  making  the   locomotive   run   faster  or 
slower,  or  stop  entirely,  as  he  may  choose.     The  genius  is 
then  an  experimenter  with  humanity  on  a  large  scale  ;  he 
does  not  create  his  marvels  any  more  than  Harvey  created 


i 


1 


S2I5. 


WHEK.1   IS   TRUTH? 


the  circulation  of  the  blood,  but  he  discovers  the  natural 
kws  which  prevail  among  peoples,  and  he  tests  them  by 
applying  them.  From  this  point  of  view  it  is  easier  for  us 
to  comprehend  how  "the  world  is  governed  with  but  little 
wisdom,"  as  the  world  would  be  governed  by  the  laws  of 
nature,  and  those  who  apparently  govern  it  have  only  to 
refrain  from  interfering  with  them. 

Here  are  three  hypotheses ;  each  one  of  the  three  is 
equally  plausible  and  equally  arbitrary;  neither  of  the 
three  can  be  refuted,  and  neither  proved.  They  can  not 
all  three  be  true  at  the  same  time,  but  tliey  may  all  three 
lie  incorrect.  What  confidence  tlien  can  we  have  in  a 
science  which  necessarily  must  he  founded  upon  one  of 
these  hyi>otheses,  and  therefore  may  ix>ssibly  Ik;  founded 
upon  an  erroneous  one,  in  any  case?  Here  again  a  deadly 
dilemma  lias  us  lietween  its  horns.  History  is  either 
purely  objective  and  represents  events  exclusively  as  they 
really  occurred — in  which  case  it  is  meaningless,  as  it  is 
impossible  for  it  to  portray  events  in  objective  actuality, — 
or  else  it  is  subjective  and  hypothetieiil  and  endeavors  to 
explain  and  impute  causes,  which  do  not  form  an  element 
of  the  event  perceivable  by  tlie  senses, — in  which  case  it 
ceases  to  retain  even  the  semblance  of  truth,  and  may  be 
merely  a  tissue  of  individual  errors,  from  the  first  to  the 
last  word.. 

Analyzing  the  phenomenon  is  generally'  considered 
the  best  way  to  approximate  the  truth  as  closely  as  possi- 
ble. Is  this  way  efficacious  after  all?  There  are  grave 
doubts  upon  this  point.  Analyzing  the  phenomenon  may 
not  lead  to  the  diseoverj^  of  the  essence  of  it,  hut  it  cer- 
tainly does  destroy  the  phenomenon.  Let  us  take  quite  a 
superficial  example  to  illustrate  this.  I  see  n  man  in  the 
uniform  of  a  soldier.  Without  the  least  hesitation  or 
▼acillation  I  am  immediately  induced  to  assert,  here  is  a 


WHAT  IS  LEFT  AFTER  THE   ANALYSIS. 


327 


soldier.     Now  I  begin  to  analyze  the  ol)ject.     I  remove  the 
uniform.    What  is  it  that  I  now  see  before  me?    No  longer 
an  object  witli   distinct,   marked  characteristics,  differen- 
tiated, but  something  more  indistinct  and  more  general,  a 
man  of  the  Caucasian  type.     If  I  deprive  him  of  his  skin, 
then  he  is  only  a  man  in  general,  hardly  to  be  distinguished 
from  a  negro  or  an  Indian.     If  I  carry  my  analysis  still 
further,  and  place  a  fragment  of  his  muscle  under  my 
microscope,  then  I  can  only  say  that  the  object  was  an 
animal,  but  am  unable  to  tell  from  it  whether  it  was  a 
man  or  a  white  man,  much  less  :i  soldier.     If,  in  conclusion, 
1  resolve  the  muscle  into  its  chemical  elements,  then  I 
have  nothing   left  of   the  original   object,  distinctive  or 
essential,  and  all  T  can  say  is  that  it  consisted  of  the  differ- 
ent kinds  of  matter  which   are  found  in  our   planetary 
system.     And  thus  with  my  implacable  and  continually 
progressing  analysis,  T  have  finally  succeeded  in  reducing 
a  soldier— an  object  clearly  to  be  recognized  and  defined, 
which  it  would  be  impossible  to  confound  with  anything 
else— into  a  little  oxygen,  carbon,  etc.,  which  might  have 
come  just  as  well  from  a  nebula  or  a  Havana  cigar.     All 
the  properties  of  material  objects  which  we  perceive  with 
our  senses,   are   movements.      Those    movements  which 
alternate  not  less  than   twenty  and   not  more  than  ten 
thousand  times  in  a  second,  we  count  with  our  auditory 
nerves,  and  perceive  them  as  sounds ;  those  which  are  re- 
peated between  five  hundred  thousand  and  three  hundred 
million  times  in  a  second,  we  count  with  the  optic  nerves, 
and  apprehend  as  light  and  color.     We  have  no  organ  to 
count  those  movements  which  occur  between  ten  thousand 
and  five  hundred  thousand  times  in  a  second,  nor  those 
below  twenty  and  above  three  hundred  million,  and  hence 
we  fail  to  perceive  them.     The  perception  of  an  object  is 
therefore,  nothing  but  the  counting  of  the  movements  j 


i\ 


MJgjittitl 


WHIRI  IS  TRUTH? 

hence  all  objects  are  essentially  identical,  and  only  diflTer 
by  the  number  of  the  movements.  This  is  the  result  of  an 
analysis  carried  to  extreme  lengths.  Very  fine.  Thus  the 
tieautiful  and  the  ugly,  the  bright  and  tlie  dark,  the 
delightful  and  the  distressing,  are  all  nothing  but  motion, 
a  slower  or  more  rapid  motion.  But  how  does  it  happen 
tliat  these  different  forms  of  motion,  which  are  after  all 
entirely  the  same,  impress  me  differently;  that  one  is 
agreeable  and  another  disagreeable  to  me,  that  one  affords 
me  gratification,  and  another  cause  for  distress?  This 
firings  me  to  the  same  point  as  in  my  analysis  of  the  sol- 
dier into  his  simple  chemical  elements.  I  have  sacrificed 
the  distinctive,  intelligible  and  special  characteristics  of  the 
Ijhenomenon,  and  after  all,  have  failed  to  learn  the  essence 
of  it  in  return. 

Such  experiences  make  us  distrustful  and  lead  to  the 
supposition  that  we  have  stated  the  problem  erroneously 
from  the  beginning.  In  our  search  for  the  essence  of  things 
we  destroy  their  outward  appearance.  Is  not  the  phenome- 
non itself  the  essence,  and  when  we  are  analj-zing  it  are  we 
not  doing  like  the  child  who,  curious  to  see  what  is  inside 
the  onion,  peels  off  layer  after  layer  and  when  it  has 
thrown  away  the  ver}-  last,  has  nothing  left  in  his  hand? 
This  is  not  denjing  the  theory  of  the  "thing  in  itself,"  but 
seeking  it  on  the  surface  of  the  phenomenon,  and  not  in  its 
secret  and  inaccessible  deptiis,  and  identifying  it  with  the 
phenomenon.  We  strive  further  for  absolute,  objective 
troth.  But  who  can  tell  us  whether  our  ver^-  premise  may 
not  be  an  erroneous  one?  Whence  do  we  derive  ou  r  knowl- 
edge that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  absolute,  objective 
truth?  What  if  the  unknown  agency  wliich  produces  the 
impressions  upon  our  senses,  did  not  become  a  distinct 
phenomenon  except  in  our  organism,  and  had  no  existence, 
as  such,  outside  of  It.    The  fact  is  universally  conceded  at 


THERE   IS   NO   TRUTH. 


329 


the  present  day  that  phenomena  possess  neither  colors 
nor  sounds,  neither  odors,  nor  heat  and  cold,  outside  of  our 
organism,  but  that  all  these  properties  are  added  to  them  in 
our  organism.  May  not  this  same  fact  apply  to  the  whole 
course  of  phenomena?  If  this  be  so,  then  phenomena 
would  have  no  form  apparent  to  the  human  senses  except 
in  the  organism ;  then  there  would  be  no  objective  and 
absolute  truth,  but  merely  a  subjective  truth  alone,  which 
could  not  be  the  same  truth  to  two  human  beings  unless 
their  organisms  were  identical ;  then  every  attempt  to  dis- 
cover objective  truth  would  be  entirely  futile,  and  we 
would  l)e  more  than  ever  condemned  to  seek  for  all  our 
knowledge  in  our  own  consciousness  exclusively,  and  not 

outside  of  it 

It  is  cold  up  here  on  these  mountain  peaks  of  thought 
I  am  shivering.  We  will  now  descend  into  the  less  ele- 
vated regions  where  we  will  be  nearer  the  plainly  practical 
but  comfortably  warm  everyday  life  of  humanity. 


^ 


THE     STATE    AN    ANNIHILATOR 

Ar"T'l7P 


The  GennaE  system  of  ranks  and  titles  has  been  held 
up  to  ridicule  a  thousand  times,  and  the  treatises  in  prose 
and  verse  which  satirize  it  form  a  whole  literature  in  them- 
selves. But  the  subject  is  by  no  means  yet  exhausted, 
and  certain  phases  of  it  have  litirdly  l)een  alluded  to. 
Thus  no  one  iuis  pointed  out  with  sufficient  emphasis,  the 
danger  that  threatens  the  development  and  even  the  exist- 
ence of  a  nation,  wlien  it  instals  the  mandarin's  button,  the 
insignia  of  his  rank,  as  its  private  and  public  ideal. 

Go  into  socii3ty  in  Germany  and  look  around  you: 
you  will  find  there  assessors  and  insi^ectors,  registrars  and 
professors,  majors  and  councilors  of  all  kinds  and  colors, 
from  the  humble  Kommissmmntth  to  the  high  and  mighty 
WirMii^ie  GeMwierraik  or  acting  privy  councilor.  Eveiy 
profession  has  its  special  councilor,  who  is  its  blossom,  as 
it  were,  and  we  can  only  be  astonished  that  there  are  a 
few  isolated  professions  which  have  no  blossom  of  this 
kind,  and  can  thus  be  considered  the  cryptogams  of  the 
state-flora.  It  would  be  so  charming  if  the  more  success- 
ful beggars  and  wine-bibbers  could  hope  to  pass  the  declin- 
ing years  of  their  prosperous  career,  adorned  with  some 
appropriate  title  such  as  Tramp-rath  or  Saloon-mth.  You 
would  seek  in  vain  among  all  these  Raths  for  a  plain  sim- 
ple man,  satisfied  with  his  own  unadorned  baptismal  and 


m 


NOTHING  BUT   STATE   OFFICIALS. 


331 


family  name,  even  if  you  were  aided  in  your  search  with  a 
Diogenes  lantern  constructed  according  to  the  latest  and 
most  approved  principles  of  electric  lighting.     The  foot- 
man handing  around  the  almond-milk  is  apparently  the 
only   representative  of    the    genus   Adam   homo  without 
some  suffix,  but  even  in  this  case  appearances  are  decej)- 
tive.     Whenever  the  State  has  occasion  to  refer  to  him 
officiall}',  either  to  call  upon  him  to  pay  his  taxes,  or  to 
prosecute   him   for   nocturnal  disturbance  of  the   public 
peace,  or  to  pin  the  universal  decoration  of  honor  to  his 
breast  on  account  of  the  solicitous  care  he  has  taken  of  the 
boots  of  some  general  or  privy  councilor  for  so  many 
years,  it  does  not  speak  of  him  as  'Friedrich  Wilhelm 
Mueller,"   but    adds   a  distinctive,    -Friedrich    Wilhelm 
Mueller,  footman."     This  is  not  a  title  of  especial  honor, 
it  is  true,  but  still  it  is  a  title.     It  fills  the  place  of  a  title, 
at  least,  and  keeps  it  warm.     It  is  a  sign  that  there  ought 
to  be  something  in  this  place.     It  keeps  up  the  habit  of 
seeing  a  handle  to  ones  name,  as  there  is  to  a  frying-pan. 
The  state  is  modest  to  excess  in  a  certain  way.     It  shocks 
it  to  behold  a  naked  name.     What  dreadful  indecency ! 
Quick,  bring  the  cloak  of  some  title  !    Or  at  least  the  fig- 
leaf  of  some  specified  profession  !     The  science  of  mathe- 
matics, which  is  also  very  particular  in  regard  to  exactness, 
does  without  prefixes  wherever  it  can,  and  asserts  by  pre- 
vious agreement  that  whenever  there  is  nothing  in  front  of 
a  term  we  must  imagine  the  plus  sign  there.     The  state 
takes  nothing  of  the  kind  for  granted.     Every  name  must 
have  something  by  which  it  can  be  taken  hold  of    Anyone 
who  is  nothing  more,  obtains  the  title  of  "private  citizen,' 
at  least.     How  characteristically  German  that  soul-impas- 
sioned cry  of  the  man  described  in  the  Fliegemde  BIcetter, 
who  excfaimed:     "Even  if  I  am  nothing  else,  I  am  at 
least  a  Contemporary ! " 


H\ 

I 


332        THE   STATE    AN   ANNIHILATOR   OP   CHARACTER. 

When  3'oti  are  introduced  to  a  gentleman  as  Herr 
Eatli  So  and  So,  joii  know  everything  about  Mm  that  you 
need  to  know.     You  need  not  take  any  trouble  to  become 
acquainted  with  his  personality ;  you  need  not  even  look 
at  his  face  and,  much  less,  notice  his  name.     These  things 
are  of  secondary  importance.     What  is  essential  is  the  fact 
that  he  is  a  Rath.     This  is  the  complete  definition  of  the 
man.     You  can  draw  conclusions  with  infallible  certainty, 
from  his  title  as  to  what  he  is  and  what  he  does,  what  he 
has  learned,  what  are  his  likes  and  dislikes;   how  and 
where  he  spends  his  days  and  nights ;  what  are  his  opin- 
ions on  every  subject,  from  free  trade  to  the  immortality 
of  the  soul ;  and  even  in  many  cases  the  amount  of  money 
he  earns.    The  sensation  one  experiences  in  meeting  a 
man  thus  betitled,  is  one  of  delightful  security.     There  is 
no  annoying  veil  to  conceal  the  features  of  a  mysterious 
Isis.    Maya  stands  before  you  satisfactorily  \isible,  and 
leaves  you  nothing  to  seek,  nothing  to  surmise.     I  am 
only  astonished  that  no  one  has  thought  of  a  system  of 
simplification  which  has  many  practical  points  to  recom- 
mend it.    What  is  the  use  of  leaving  any  proper  name  to 
these  titled  gentlemen  at  all?    The  proper  name  reminds 
you  alter  all  of  a  personality,  but  the  highest  triumph  of 
these  gentlemen  is  not  to  have  any  personality;    but  to 
have  rank,  position,  a  title.    These  are  the  main  thing;- 
the  man,  himself,  is  merely  an  unessential  appendage. 
Very  well,  let  ns  suppress  this  appendage  entirely,  and 
designate  each  title-bearer  only  l>y  the  number  of  the  page 
and  line  in  the  state  reconls,  the  peerage  book  or  in  the 
army  roll,  where  he  is  inscribed.     Or  if  this  may  seem  to 
have  disadvantages,  then  let  us  give  him  some  settled, 
easily  remembered  name,  to  be  borne  for  ever  after  by  all 
those  who  fill  a  certain  position,  and  to  be  conferred  simuL 
taueously  with  the  title.    Then  when  a  mim  assumes  hia 


OF   WHAT    USE   ARE   PROPER  NAMES? 


333 


uniform  he  assumes  a  name  ulso,  and  vanishes  in  his  rank 
and  title  to  the  last  hair  on  his  body.  The  grand  seigneurs 
of  France  in  the  last  century  reduced  living  to  a  science. 
They  had  one  settled  surname  for  each  footman,  and  any 
man  entering  their  service  was  obliged  to  answer  to  this 
name.  The  valet  was  called  Jeunesse,  for  instance,  the  game- 
keeper, Picardie,  and  the  coachman,  Victor ;  each  assumed 
the  name  with  the  livery  left  him  by  his  predecessor,  and 
bequeathed  it  to  his  successor,  and  thus  their  masters,  who 
were  not  interested  in  distinguishing  personalities,  but 
only  in  seeing  regular  menial  duties  regularly  performed, 
saved  themselves  in  th?s  way  the  necessity  of  taxing  their 
memories  as  far  as  the  servant's  hall  was  concerned. 

The  matter  would  not  be  so  serious,  however,  if  the 
public  otticials  were  the  only  ones  who  experienced  this 
childish  delight  in  their  titles,  and  ascribed  more  impor- 
tance to  their  uniform  than  to  their  person.  But  this  phe- 
nomenon is  by  no  means  confined  to  those  circles  in  which 
the  title  corresponds  to  at  least  some  kind  of  work  per- 
formed, and  where  the  uniform  is  not  a  carnival  disguise 
but  an  official  robe ;  it  is  found  throughout  the  whole 
people  and  is  observed  in  many  persons  who  are  not  con- 
nected in  any  way  with  the  state,  except  as  they  are  enu- 
merated in  the  census  to  form  the  official  total  population. 
Even  ill  private  life  the  German  yearns  and  strives  for 
official  recognition  in  some  way,  some  distinction  or  badge 
as  a  token  that  lie  is  a  member  of  the  electoral  herd.  Until 
the  state  has  taken  official  cognizance  of  his  existence  by 
bestowing  something  upon  him,  he  does  not  believe  in 
his  actual  existence.  Without  such  a  so-called  distinction, 
he  does  not  feel  himself  a  complete  man,  at  most,  only  as 
the  pedestal  of  one.  He  considers  his  profession  as  the 
stepping-stone  to  a  title,  and  believes  his  breast  was  only 
created  for  the  purpose  of  wearing  an  order.     Men,  free- 


i\ 


THE   STATE  AN'  ANNIHILATOR  OF  CHAEACTER. 

boni  tiDtl  independent,  they  liave  no  pride  in  relying  uix)n 
themselves  and  being  under  no  obligations  to  anyliod}', 
but  sacrifice  their  independence,  which  is  worth  far  more 
than  Esau's  birth-right,  for  a  favor  which  is  more  insignifi- 
cant in  realitj'  than  Jacob's  mess  of  pottage.  When  the 
feudal  system  was  first  developed,  free-bom  men  were 
obliged  to  place  all  their  possessions  in  the  hands  of 
the  great  nobles,  and  receive  them  back  as  a  feudal  tenure, 
like  a  gracious  gift,  from  the  latter.  We  now  do  without 
the  least  necessity  or  compulsion  what  was  only  done 
by  the  proud  peoples  of  those  days  after  an  obstinate 
resistance. 

In  Russia  the  ladder  with  its  different  rounds  of  official 
ranks  and  functionaries,  is  called  the  Tschin.  Every  Rus- 
sian has  to  stand  upon  some  one  round  of  this  ladder,  if 
he  desires  to  be  of  any  more  consequence  in  the  world  than 
a  beiTing  in  the  shoal  But  the  Tschin  has  not  remained 
exclusivel}'  a  Russian  institution ;  it  has  found  its  way 
over  the  border.  The  ladder  has  also  Ijeen  erected  in  Ger- 
many, and  the  world  now  sees  the  remarkable  spectacle  of 
the  firat  and  most  powerful  civilized  people  on  earth, 
Blinding  their  days  like  a  fiock  of  trained  tree-toads  climb 
ing  solemnly  from  one  round  to  the  other.  The  individual 
does  not  develope  from  within  outward,  but  by  external 
accretions ;  he  does  not  grow  like  an  independent  organ- 
ism filled  with  vital  energy,  but  like  a  dead,  inert  stone. 
The  state  is  what  adds  new  inches  to  the  natural  height  of 
the  individual,  making  him  taller  by  a  whole  head  from 
time  to  time.  This  development  does  not  consist  in  any 
elevation  of  the  character,  but  in  the  growth  of  the  title  in 
length.  The  peisonality  loses  a  quality,  tha  title  gains  an 
adjective.  The  temperament  grows  poorer,  the  decoration 
richer. 

And  wo©  to  the  man  who  wishes  to  escape  from  this 


NO  ESCAPE    FR03I    THIS   VOLUNTARY    SERVITUDE.      335 

voluntary  servitude  !     He  is  regarded  by  all  the  rest  like 
the  free  wolf  by  the  house  dogs  in  the  fable.    Or,  to  be  more 
exact :  he  is  disregarded  altogether.    Grimmelshausen  tells 
about  a  wonderful  bird's  nest  that  made  any  one  who  carried 
it  invisible.    The  title  produces  an  effect  exactly  the  reverse 
of  this  bird's  nest.     It  is  what  first  makes  the  one  who 
bears  it  visible.     As  long  as  a  man  is  without  it,  he  is  not 
noticed  by  society,  he  is  a  shadowy  outline,  a  phantom. 
He  who  in  obedience  to  his  own  organic  vigor  and  to  his 
inherent  law  of  growth,  has  developed  into  an  individuality 
which  must  be  considered  and  measured  by  itself  alone, 
and  can  only  be  comprehended  in  its  true  originality  and 
beauty  when  all  external  arbitrary  additions  are  removed, 
which  only  serve  to  disturb  its  outlines  and  confuse  the 
effect  of  the  whole,  such  a  man  is  lost  sight  of  behind 
these  insignificant  puppets,  who  have  no  use  or  purpose 
except  as  wearers  of  uniforms  and    insignia  of    rank! 
The  child  in  the   anecdote   said   that   he  could  not  tell 
whether  the  children  bathing  were  boys  or  girls,  as  they 
did  not  have  any  clothes  on.     Society's  point  of  view  is 
the  same  as  this  child's.     It  is  unable  to  realize  what  is 
human  unless  it  appears  in  a  certain  attire.     It  does  not 
recognize  a  man  as  a  man  unless  he  makes  his  appearance 
in  the  full  panoply  of  ranks  and  titles.     This  point  of 
view  compels  every  one,  who  has  the  justifiable  ambition 
to  become  of  some  importance  in  the  eyes  of  his  fellow- 
citizens,  to  abandon  his  natural  course  of  development  and 
fall  in  with  the  procession  as  it  moves  along  the  track 
appointed  for  it  by  the  state,  with  policemen  to  guard  it  on 
the  right  and  left,  all  drowsily  keeping  step  together.    The 
individual  thus  comes  to  be  of  the  opinion  that  his  original 
life,  as  he  received  it  from  nature,  is  of  no  account,  and 
that,  to  enter  upon  actual  existence,  he  must  be  born  again 
with  the  help  of  the  state,  us  somo  pnV)lir  functionary,  as 


mnr^ 


336 


THE   STATE   AN   AXXIIIILATClE   OF   €riARA€TER. 


ill  liKlia  tlic  iiieiiilters  of  the  lliit'e  liijijlii'st  easteH  an* 
•'•l)liwiiselia,s/*  lljal  is,  llii'v  iiiiist  siiluait  to  soiiie^ereiiioiiv 
syinliolical  of  a  new  liirtli,  wlieii  lliey  have  aUahie<l  to 
maiihood,  which  eoiisists  of  iiassiiig*  tlirough  some  small 
aiid  narrow  ilooruav,  ixiljed  entirely  in  white,  with  all 
kinds  of  atlentlant  formalities. 

Wliat  a  pitiable  retro<n*es8iou  to  a  stage  of  evolution 
long  Hinee  left  behind  us  I  Wiiat  a  contrast  tr>  all  the 
principles  and  impelling  forces  of  the  age!  Tlie  more 
liighly  developed  an  organism,  tlit!  more  cjriginal,  the  moie 
differentiated  it  is,  and  the  more  subordinat*;  the  position 
of  the  race  in  it  eoniptired  with  tliat  of  tlie  individual. 
This  law  alFects  not  merely  the  individuals  alom;  but  the 
race  as  well.  In  ancient  and  mediieval  times,  the  conniiii- 
nity  was  oi-ganizcfl  ns  a  solid,  com[>act  l>ody,  and  the  indi- 
vi(bials  had  no  imiMjrtanee  save  as  |»arts  of  the  whole.  In 
those  days  it  was  neither  p«»ssible  nor  suitable  for  any  <»tie 
to  be  oi'iginal :  lie  was  oliliged'  ti:»  conform  to  thti  can^firlly 
drawn  desiirn  followed  in  the  construction  of  the  state,  \\ni 
8oeiet> .  the  corporati<»u  or  tlu*  iiuild.  All  those  who  had 
not  been  receivt'd  iutoanv  comnumitv  or  i>rivileii:ed  fellow- 
ship,  wert!  wamkrers  with  no  claiui  to  justici',  and  outlaws. 

Tliis  stage  of  social  develi »pmi'nt  can  be  compaitHl  to  Ji 

cond  branch,  in  wliieii  the  single  individuals  have  grown 
together,  incompletely  developed,  without  any  oi-ganie  IVee- 
doni.  an<l  can  neither  live  to  theniselves  alone  nor  move 
about,  and  never  attain  to  auvthing  bevimd  a  subonlinate 
and  stunted  piirtial  existence.  We  have  pixigressed  Iwnonil 
tliis.  We  arc  no  longer  a  c(n*al  fin'ination,  we  constitute 
now  a  tlock.  Each  individual  leads  a  separate  existence, 
even  if  all  rely  upon  each  other  for  certain  ollices.  The 
tie  of  fellowship  that  unites  us  all,  allows  us  each  a  certain 
amount  of  liberty,  and  it  is  organicall}'  possible  to  us  all  to 
graze  f *  >r  on  rsel  x es.    \\\'  sac r i fice  vol  u o tari  ly  this  i ndi v  idii- 


mnmmm 


WHAT    JS    MKAST    nv    THE    STATE. 


337 


ation— the  prize  won  for  us  by  modern  times— for  the  old 
collectivity,  in  which  the  single  being  is  nothing  but  a  cell, 
an  organ,  a  moving,  senseless  nothing.  For  this  is  where 
we  inevitably  land  when  wo  tacitly  acknowledge  that  a 
man  Inis  no  worth  and  no  dignity  except  as  they  are  be- 
stowed upon  him  by  the  executive  authoritit»s.  and  that 
his  station  among  his  fellow-men  is  l)etter  determined  by 
some  name  or  distinction  conferred  upon  hira,  than  by  his 
own  merits,  liis  intellectual  achievements  and  his  acts  done 
without  consideration  of  the  otiicial  rei)orts. 

What  is  the  state?  In  theory  it  means  :  us  all  !  But 
in  i)ractice  it  means  a  ruling  class,  a  small  numbcn- of  domi- 
nant individuals,  sometimes  only  one  single  person.  To 
state  that  we  plact^  the  state  above  everything  else,  means, 
simply  and  exclusiveiv.  that  we  arc  anxious  to  please  this 
class,  the.se  few  persons  or  this  single  person.  It  means 
that  instead  of  developing  towards  the  ideal  implanted  in 
us  ]»y  nature,  we  have  set  ni)  an  ideal  evolved  1)}'  the  mind 
of  another  person,  perhaps  even  by  another's  whim.  It 
nutans  that  w^e  renounce  our  inmost  essential  being,  and 
conform  to  some  external  pattern,  possibly  repugnant  to 
all  our  original  dispositions  and  tastes.  The  history  of  a 
nations  civilization  becomes  thus  the  record  of  an  order, 
like  that  of  the  Jesuits,  whose  members  have  offered  up  their 
own  reason  as  a  sacrifice  and  renounced  the  right  of  think- 
ing with  their  own  brains  and  passing  judgment  in  their  own 
consciences  upon  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong.  We 
do  not  form  ourselves  according  to  the  organic  impulse 
within  us,  but  complacently  pour  ourselves  like  melted 
metal  into  some  mould  set  up  for  us  l)y  the  authorities, 
and  pride  oui-selves  upon  being  tawdry  zinc  figures 
for  clocks  turned  out  by  the  dozen,  instead  of  living 
beings  with  an  individual  physiognomy.  This  process  of 
melting  and  casting  disintegrates  the  crystalline  structure 


k\ 


!l 


I'. 


THE    STATK    AN    AXNIMILATOR    OF   iHARArTEH. 


of  11  iMJoplc  Jiiul  (lesti'ovs  its  solidity.  Tlie  liejuitifiil  iind  rich 
iiiiiltifoniiity  (»f  luitiiral  devclopiiieiit  gives  pl:i€e  t4^*  :i  forced, 
wretelied  uniformity.  If  you  ask  an  individual  aliruptly 
wliat  is  liis  opinion  upon  a  certain  subject,  he  can  not  tell 
you  uiMHi  the  spot,  but  has  first  to  go  to  the  chestnut  groA'o 
to  get  the  conntereign.  Milliona  renounce  their  intellect- 
nal  li'eedoni,  and  pla<e  themselves  and  ail  their  thoughts 
and  ai:tion8  unthn-  a  guardianship,  t^)  whose  narrf»w  tyr- 
ann}"  the}*  soon  ceas«»  to  he  sensitive. 

There  is  no  need  to  ad\'ance  tlie  objection  that  this 
can  not  lie  otherwise,  and  that  1,  my  sell;  liave  kien  the 
very  one  to  dwell  npon  the  faict  tlnit  the  masses  are  inca- 
pable of  original  indepentlent  mentid  laljor,  and  thrt  this 
is  performed  by  exceptional  character  alone,  and  the 
results  of  it  fire  transmitteil  by  suggestion  from  tlie  small 
minoritv  to  the  vast  majority.  But  it  makes  an  immense 
diiference  wlitsther  the  thoughts  of  an  individual  or  of  sev- 
eral individojds  are  instilled  into  the  brains  of  othei-s  by 
natural  suggestion  or  forced  into  them  by  violence  and 
compulsion.  In  the  fonner  case  no  organic  i>roct\ss  is 
intcsrfered  with ;  tliose  alone  who  are  incapable  <»f  indi\'id- 
ual  thought  succumb  to  tlie  influence  of  the  sujierior  mintl 
and  necessarily  become  its  echo.  In  the  latter  case,  on 
the  other  hand,  nil  natural  development  is  prevented  and 
suppressed,  and  those  gifted  and  vigorous  minds  which  are 
adapted  to  work  out  new  tlioughts  and  add  to  the  intel- 
lectual wealth  of  the  people  and  of  humanity  in  general,  are 
also  induced  to  suppress,  intentionally  and  willfully,  their 
own  cerebral  activity,  so  that  they  can  think  the  pattern- 
thoughts  with  which  the  nation  is  kept  supplied  by  the 
authorities,  and  thus  render  themselves  worthy  of  official 
recognition. 

The  difference  is  similar  to  that  between  the  idleness 
of  small  cliihlren  and  the  loafing  of  able-liodietl  men.    One 


THE   government's   INCESSANT   St'PERTISlON.         ^S39 


is  natural  and  a  matter  of  course,  with  no  injurious  eco- 
nomical consequences ;  the  other,  if  it  is  universal,  reduces 
a  people  to  beggary. 

This  general  renunciation  of  all  claim  to  personal 
independence,  as  a  matter  of  course,  facilitates  the  task 
of  governing  to  a  great  degree.  The  poodle  never  keeps 
so  still  as  when  a  piece  of  sugar  is  laid  on  his  nose, 
and  lie  is  allowed  the  prospect  of  snapping  it  as  the 
reward  for  waiting  like  a  good  dog  till  ho  receives  per- 
mission. A  people  that  has  no  respect  for  a  man  until  he 
has  received  his  re-baptism  from  the  hands  of  the  author- 
ities in  the  government  records,  and  thereby  impels  and 
even  compels  its  more  talented  citizens  to  force  their 
way  at  any  cost  into  the  Holy  of  Holies  of  the  official 
gazette,  such  a  people  is  entirely  at  the  merry  of  the  gov- 
ernment, that  is,  of  its  dominant  class.  The  thought: 
"What  will  the  authorities  say?"  is  the  constant  com- 
panion of  all  its  citizens,  and  peers  over  their  shoulder 
even  at  their  most  private  tasks,  schemes  and  conversa- 
tions. Under  the  inc^essant  supervision  of  this  overseer 
the  citizen  loses  the  necessary  and  fruitful  practice  of  un- 
disturbed intercourse  with  himself  and  his  own  conscience, 
and  thus  loses  confidence  in  himself,  and  begins  to  act  a 
part  and  be  an  eye-servant— the  inevitable  result  of  know- 
ing that  the  eyes  of  a  captious  observer  are  constantly 
upon  one.  But  of  course  it  is  for  the  interest  of  the  gov- 
ernment to  maintain  this  very  state  of  affairs.  It  prevents 
any  inconvenient  opposition  on  the  part  of  public  opinion. 
It  lays  a  great  nation  at  the  feet  of  a  minister  and  a  few 
influential  statesmen.  It  grinds  down  the  independent  men 
into  second  class  citizens  bearing  a  stigma,  as  they  will 
never  be  able  to  ripen  into  titled  and  decorated  men  of  the 
full  stamp,  and  imparts  to  every  political  attempt  at  rebel- 
lion against  the  government,  the  character  of  a  disgrace  in 


I 


THE    STATK   AN    AXNIIIILATdll    C»F   rllARArTER. 

of  11  people  iiiiil  ilesirojs  its  solidity.  T\\v  Ijeuutifiil  iinil  rich 
iiiiiltiforinity  of  natural  (levelopiiieiit  gives  place  to  :i  foreed, 
wretched  iiiilformity.  If  you  ask  an  iiidividiuil  iibniptly 
what  is  his  opinion  upon  a  certtiiii  subject,  he  can  not  tell 
you  uijoii  the  spot,  but  has  first  to  go  to  tlie  eliestnut  grove 
to  get  the  eountei-sign.  .Millions  renounce  their  intellectr 
nal  freedom,  and  place  themselves  and  ail  tlieir  thoughts 
and  JK  tioiis  under  a  guardianship,  U)  whose  narrow  tyr- 
mmy  th*»y  soon  eease  to  be  sensitive. 

Tlu^rc  is  ijo  need  to  advanc'c  tlie  olijection  that  this 
can  not  be  otherwise,  and  that  1.  myself,  have  bt*eu  the 
ver}'  one  to  dwell  upon  the  fat*t  that  the  masses  are  inca- 
pable of  original,  independent  mentid  labor,  and  tlu^t  this 
is  perfonned  l>y  exceptioiud  characters  alone,  and  the 
results  of  it  iue  tnuismitted  liy  snggestion  from  the  small 
minority  to  tlic  vast  majority.  But  it  makes  an  immense 
difference  whether  the  th< nights  of  an  individual  or  of  se\'- 
eral  individuals  are  instilled  into  the  Inains  of  othera  by 
natural  suggestion  or  forced  into  them  by  violence  an<l 
compulsion.  In  the  former  case  no  oi-ganic  pi-ocess  is 
interfered  witli ;  those  alone  who  are  incapable  of  individ- 
ual thought  snccnnib  to  the  influence  of  the  sui>erior  mind 
and  necessarily  lM»conie  its  echo.  In  the  latter  case,  on 
the  other  hand,  all  natnral  development  is  prevented  an<l 
suppressed,  and  those  gifted  and  vigorous  minds  which  ai-e 
adapted  to  work  out  new  thouglits  and  add  to  the  intel- 
lectual wealth  of  the  people  and  of  humanity  in  geneml,  are 
also  induced  to  suppress,  intentionally  and  willfidly,  their 
own  cerebral  activity,  so  that  they  can  think  the  pattern- 
thoughts  with  which  the  nation  is  kept  supplied  by  tlie 
authorities,  and  thus  render  themselves  worthy  of  official 
recognition. 

Tlie  diflerence  is  similar  t«  tliat  between  the  idleness 
of  small  cliildren  and  tlie  loafing  of  able-bodied  men.    One 


THE    GOVERNMENTS    INCESSANT    SFPERVISION.         339 

is  natural  and  a  matter  of  course,  with  no  injiirious  eco- 
nomical consequences ;  the  other,  if  it  is  universal,  reduces 
a  people  to  beggary. 

This  general  renunciation  of  all  claim  to  personal 
independence,  as  a  matter  of  course,  facilitates  the  task 
of  govei-ning  to  a  great  degree.  The  poodle  never  keeps 
so  still  as  when  a  piece  of  sugar  is  laid  on  his  nose, 
and  he  is  allowed  the  prospect  of  snapping  it  as  the 
reward  for  waiting  like  a  good  dog  till  he  receives  per- 
mission. A  people  that  has  no  respect  for  a  man  until  he 
has  received  his  re-baptism  from  the  hands  of  the  author- 
ities in  the  government  records,  and  thereby  impels  and 
even  compels  its  more  talented  citizens  to  force  their 
way  at  any  cost  into  the  Holy  of  Holies  of  the  official 
gazette,  such  a  people  is  entirely  at  the  mercy  of  the  gov- 
ernment, that  is,  of  its  dominant  class.  The  thought: 
"What  will  the  authorities  say?"  is  the  constant  com- 
panion of  all  its  citizens,  and  peers  over  their  shoulder 
even  at  their  most  private  tasks,  schemes  and  conversa- 
tions. Under  the  incessant  supervision  of  this  overseer 
the  citizen  loses  the  necessary  and  fruitful  practice  of  un- 
disturbed intercourse  with  himself  and  his  own  conscience, 
and  thus  loses  confidence  in  himself,  and  begins  to  act  a 
part  and  be  an  eye-servant— the  inevitable  result  of  know^- 
ing  that  the  eyes  of  a  captious  observer  are  constantly 
upon  one.  But  of  course  it  is  for  the  interest  of  the  gov- 
ernment to  maintain  this  veiy  state  of  affairs.  It  prevents 
any  inconvenient  opposition  on  the  part  of  public  opinion. 
It  lays  a  great  nation  at  the  feet  of  a  minister  and  a  few 
influential  statesmen.  It  grinds  down  the  independent  men 
into  second  class  citizens  bearing  a  stigma,  as  they  will 
never  be  able  to  ripen  into  titled  and  decorated  men  of  the 
full  stamp,  and  imparts  to  every  political  attempt  at  rebel- 
lion against  the  government,  the  character  of  a  disgrace  in 


iyx'l 


THE   STATE    AN   ANNIHILATOR   OF   rHARArTER, 


the  eyes  of  the  iiisisses,  tlie  elwiieter  of  an  wjfc  which  cle- 
prives  the  one  who  takes  part  in  it,  of  what  is  considered 
his  most  valned  and  honored  right — tlie  right  of  having 
his  button-hole  decorated  with  a  colored  ribbon  some  day, 
and  of  adding  a  title  to  liis  name. 

This  is  a  state  of  affairs  which  is  not  only  contempt- 
ible,  not  only  immoml,  but  also  ext«,mely  menacing  t«  the 
futn're  of  a  ,;eople.  I  'think  it  was  in  Vasari  whe^'  I  read 
that  Michael  Angelo  tecame  so  accustomed  to  looking  up- 
waiTl,  during  the  twenty-two  months  he  was  engjiged  in 
painting  the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Ohai^el,  that  he  could  no 
longer  look  straight  forward,  nor  to  tl>e  right  or  left  like 
other  men,  but  was  oliliged  to  hold  even  the  writing  he 
wished  to  rend  high  above  his  eyes.  The  same  thing  ha[)- 
'P&m  to  a  [people  wliicli  lias  aequireil  the  habit  of  always 
looking  up,  always  keeping  its  gaze  fixed  n^ion  the  heads 
of  the  government.  It  loses  the  faculty  of  looking  around 
and  forwani,  freely  and  independently;  fmm  want  of 
practice  it  fails  to  observe  tlie  dangers  approaching  from 
other  directions.  Those  men  who  toil  for  the  publico 
welfare,  or  pretend  to  do  so,  do  not  notice  their  neighbors 
nor  the  effect  of  their  words  and  actions  upon  them,  as  in 
the  whole  of  their  artificially  limited  horizon  there  is  noth- 
ing but  the  image  of  some  one  person  or  group  at  whose 
no<!  and  l>ock  they  dance  like  marionettes.  Thcj  no  longer 
have  an}'  eyes  for  the  communit}' ;  to  be  useful  to  it,  to 
please  it,  is  not  their  object,  which  is  only  to  obtain  some 
condescending  gesture  or  smile  from  those  in  i>ower. 

I  am  well  aware  of  what  is  usually  said  in  favor  of 
such  a  state  of  affairs.  It  is  claimed  that  it  facilitates  the 
centralization  of  the  whole  strength  of  the  |KJople  for  great 
enterprises,  in  fiict  is  what  firet  makes  them  [jossible ;  that 
it  prevents  this  strength  Vicing  frittered  away  in  a  thousand 
different  directions  and  allows  an  intellisreut  and  concen- 


TTIE   VmXY   rOTNClLOIl    IN    THE    CATASTROPHE.        ^^41 

tnitcd  ouiaance  ol"  the  destinies  of  the  nation.     The  inhab- 
itant ofa  country  whose  citizens  are  of  no  account  until  they 
have  become  distinguished  to  tlie  sight  by  the  grand  total 
represented  in  the  government,  feels  himself  constrained 
to  dedicate  his  energies  to  this  grand  total  and  to  make 
himself  worthy  of  belonging  to  it ;    selfisli  interests  are 
overthrown   an<l  public   spirit  eultivated ;    a  close   solid- 
arity unites  all  the  ineml)ers  of  a  nation,  and  strict  disci- 
pline, without  wliicli  even  the  mightiest  efforts  on  the  part 
of  the  massc^s  are  barren  of  results,  becomes  a  fuiidainental 
eharaeteristic  of  the   people.     This  is  wliat  is   urged   in 
favor  of  it.  but  it  is  all  erroneous  from  the  first  to  the 
last  word.      Tl»e   strength   of  the   wliole    is.    ultimately, 
always  diicctly  dependent  upon  the  strength  of  the  single 
constituent  parts.     If  they  are  weak,  then  all  organization, 
all  <liscii)liue  and  all  subordination  to  a  single  guidance 
will  n(»t  make  thein  strong.     In  vain  do  a  thousand  si  eep 
combine  in  the  most  extreme  solidarity,  they  will  never  be 
able  to  withstand  a  single  lion,  nor  even  inspire  him  with 
fear.     If   all  manly  independence  is  systematically  sup- 
presse<l  and  exterminated  in  a  nation,  if  all  character  is 
crushed  out  by  external  pressure,  it  follows  in  the  end,  that 
there  is  nothing  left  alive  in  the  peoi)le  as  a  people,  and 
nouirht  remains  but  an  atomic  dust  through  wliicli  a  child 
might  run  its  fingers  in  play.     Original  characters  cannot 
develope,    multiformity    vanishes,    the    springs   of    truth 
wliicli  used  to  bublUe   forth   from   a   thousand   separate 
brains  cease  to  flow  and  dry  up,  and  in  going  through  the 
land  from  one  end  to  the  other,  we  meet  none  l)ut  regu- 
lation copies  of  one  single  figure,  which  has  been  officially 
announced  as  the  only  genuine  and  proper  national  type. 
A  people  can  bear  deterioration  of  this  kind  for  a  long 
while  in  times  of  peace,  without  l)ec()iniiig  aware  of  the 
perilousness  of  its  condition  and  without  seeing  the  yawn- 


342 


STATE    AX    .WXlllILATrm    op   f'HARACTEE. 


ing  III nss  iiloiiii:  wl lost'  hriuk  it  is  moving,      ft  may  even 
be  so  fortiiiKite  as  to  he  goveriieil  liy  some  powerful  and 
enligbteiied  mind  with  exalted  ideals  which  accomplishes 
great  deeds.     In  sncli  a  ease  every  tiling  works  smoothly, 
the  adheriints  of  the  government  triumph  :  success  seems 
to  vindicate  those  who  claim  that  the  people  should  allow 
one  single  brain  to  think  fttr  it,  one  single  arm  to  act  for 
it,    and   the   general    strife   for   governmental    patronage, 
which  is  nothing  but  an  miconditional  return  to  the  point 
of  view  of  the  submissive  citizen's  narrow  reasoning,  seems 
to  promote  tlie  prosperity  of  the  state.     But  the  genius 
can  not  live  forever;  ever}'  age  does  not  pnxhice  a  new 
one,  and  even  the  greatest  nation  is  not  sure  of  alwa3's 
having  remarkable  men  at  tlie  head  of  its  govc»rnm(nit. 
History  ieaclies  that  in  tlie  councils  of  the  mighty  the 
'-little  wisdom"  of  which  Oxenstierna  speaks,  is  of  far 
more  frequent  occurrence  than  givat  intellectual  al)ility. 
But  what  if  the  destinies  of  the  people  fall  into  the  liands 
of  mediocTitv.  or  even  worse  tlian  this,  of  frivolitv.  (^iiotism, 
self-intereBt  or  low  vice.     The  co„fln„e<l  hal.it  of  ariowin.: 
the  government  to  think  and  act  for  it  and  of  honoring  tlie 
opinions  advanced  liy  the  authorities  as  infellible  revela- 
tions, will  continue  to  prevail  as  it  has  become  organic ; 
the  masses  will  continue  to  regard  the  pulilic  official,  the 
Bath,  as  the  perfect  man  and  first-class  citizen  ;  all  persons 
throughout  the  different  strata  of  cultivation  in  the  njition 
will  continue  their  efforts  to  olitain  titles  and  orders,  and 
tlie  government  will  continue  to  bestow  the  evidences  of 
its  favor  upon  those  alone  whose  applause  is  loud  and 
vigorous.     Those,  therefore,  who  long  for  the  respect  of 
the  masses  will  continue  to  expire  of  admiration  and  adora- 
tion of  the  supreme  authorities ;  all  criticism  is  dumb,  the 
opposition  of  the  indei^endent  few  is  without  effect,  and 
this  idyl  of  complacent  goveniiiig  and  admiring  olKjying 


THE    nORSE    AS    SENATOR. 


343 


may  continue  until  some  night  the  most  frightful  catas- 
troplie  may  befall  it,  suddenly  and  without  warning.     Then 
the  consequences  of  this  system  of  universal  worship  of  the 
heads  of  the  government  will  become  apparent.     The  citi- 
zens will  then  luive  lost  the  practice  of  thinking  of  the  com- 
mon welfare,  and  of  seeking  in  their  own  minds  and  hearts 
for  what  could  promote  it ;  with  the  government  constantly 
in  view  they  will  finally  have  learned  to  confound  it  with  the 
nation  and  the  fatherland ;  they  will  have  become  accus- 
tomed to  performing  eye  service  for  a  reward  and  official 
recognition,  and  know  nothing  of  winning  their  own  self- 
respect  and  self-approval  by  living  out  their  own  original 
selves ;  the  disaster  consequently  finds  the  whole  people 
unprepared  and  defenseless,  and  so  it  finally  perishes,  unless 
it  contains  some  sound  and  vigorous  elements  in  its  inmost 
recesses,  which  had  found  opportunity  to  pursue  their  own 
course  of  development,  as  they  cared  nothing  for  titles  and 
ordei-s,  and  whose  invincible  powers  of  resistance  and  en- 
durance in  the  hours  of  extremest  peril,  will  compensate  for 
all  the  crimes  and  blunders  of  an  imbecile  government  and 
an  elite  of  flattering  courtiers. 

A  nation  that  bows  down  to  the  oflficial  roll-call  with 
idolatrous  veneration  gets  nothing  more  than  it  deserves 
when  the  horse  Incitatus  is  imposed  upon  it  as  its  senator. 
It  raises  its  own  oppressors  and  emasculators.  This  is 
how  it  comes  to  pass  that  one  falls  asleep  at  Rossbaeh  and 
awakes  at  Jena. 


NATIONALITY. 


If  we  did  not  know  how  completely  the  subjective 
rules  our  thought,  how  jiii  erroneous  conception  evolved  in 
owr  mind  in  re«:ard  to  an}'  phenomenon,  renders  our  (!on- 
sciousness  incapiible  of  ciorrecil)-  Jipi)reliending  that  phe- 
nomenon luid  of  iMjreeiving  the  difference  between  it  and 
tlie  picture  we  have  of  it  in  our  mind,  if,  in  a  worrl,  we  did 
not  know  how  much  more  tenacious  of  life  prejudice  is, 
than  judgment,  and  how  much  mightier  fiction  is  than  tiutli, 
we  should  l)e  unable  to  undcretand  how  there  could  lie  any 
persons  at  the  present  time,  wlio  could  consider  the  subject 
of  uationality  as  one  of  the  errors  of  tlie  day  and  a  matter 
of  fiishion,  and  designate  it  its  a  fraud  in  all  earnestness- 
saying  that  it  has  captivated  many  minds,  of  course,  but 
that,  sooner  or  later,  the  whole  subject  will  have  sunk  into 
oblivion.  Tliere  is,  in  fact,  a  certain  class  of  individuals, 
who  have  the  assurance  to  call  themselves  statesmen,  and 
take  it  upon  themselves  to  direi-t  tlie  destinies  of  nations. 
They  assert  that  this  idea  of  nationality  was  simply  in- 
vented by  NaiK)leon  111,  in  order  to  create  internal  dissen- 
sions in  foreign  states,  and  to  raise  np  abroad  promoters 
and  suppoiixirs  of  Iiis  restless  and  adventurous  policy, 
(hu*  single  circumstance  alone  can  prevent  reasoning  men 
from  [jronouneing  the  so-called  statesmen,  who  talk  in 
tliis  w:iy,  incurable  Imlieciles,  and  that  is  the  fact,  that  they 
all,  without  exception,  Ijclong  to  cjountries  or  races,  in 
which  the  awakening  of  a  national  consciousness  would  be 


DESCENT    NO   CIIAIIACTERISTIC   OF   NATIONALITY.    345 

fraught  with  peril,  and  hence,  owing  to  their  own  desires 
and  '^passions,  their  anxiety  for  the  future,  hatred  of  the 
aspiring  peoples  and  fury  at  the  threatened  loss  of  usurped 
privileges,  are  biased  in  their  ol)servation  and  interpreta- 
tion ot^  facts.  You  liud  them  in  France,  which  laments 
the  loss  of  its  prestige  as  the  leading  nation  in  Europe  l>y 
the  uuitication  of  Germany  and  Italy;  in  Austro-Hungary, 
where  the  subjugated  peoples  are  demanding  their  rights 
of  humanity,  and  in  Belgium,  where  the  Flemings  are 
contending  with  the  Walloons  for  their  emancipation.  All 
those  whose  understanding  has  not  been  obscured  by  solici- 
tude lor  their  personal  interests,  appreciate  the  fact  that 
the  awakening  of  a  national  consciousness  is  a  phenome- 
non that  occurs  necessarily  and  as  a  matter  of  course, 
when  the  development  of  the  individual,  as  also  of  the 
race,  has  reached  a  certain  point,  and  that  it  is  as  inii)os- 
sible  to  retard  it  i»r  prevent  it  as  to  change  the  tides  of  the 
ocean  or  the  heat  of  the  sun  in  midsummer.  Those  per- 
sons who  assure  the  people  that  they  will  soon  cease  to 
emphasize  their  nationality,  stand  on  the  same  intellectual 
plane  as  the  child  that  says  to  its  mother,  "Wait  till  you 
get  to  be  a  little  child,  and  then  I  will  carry  you,  too."' 

Upon  what  is  this  idea  of  nationality  (bunded?  What 
are  its  distinguishing  characteristics?  This  point  has  been 
much  disputed,  and  the  question  has  been  answered  in 
many  ditferent  ways.  Some  emphasize  the  anthropological 
element  in  it,  that  is,  the  result  of  common  descent.  This 
is  so  palpable  an  error,  that  it  seems  superfluous  to  refute 
it.  As  a  matter  of  course  I  do  not  believe  in  the  oneness 
of  the  human  race.  I  believe  that  the  different  chief-races 
represent  subdivisions  of  our  species,  and  that  their  diffei^ 
ence  in  anatomical  structure  and  complexion  are  not 
merely  the  evidences  of  adaptation,  and  consequences  of 
the  transfomation  of  a  single  original  type,  produced  by 


^ 


34:6 


in  A  M.  M.\3^  A  htA  M.  Tt  t 


the  iiiflueoc«s  of  tlie  eiiviroiimeiit,  but  that  the  explanation 
of  them  is  to  be  found  in  a  difference  of  origin  Accord- 
ing to  ni}'  opinion  tlie  degree  of  relationship  Unit  exists 
between  a  white  man  and  a  negro,  between  a  Papuan  and 
an  Indian,  is  no  more  tluin  that  tetwoeii  an  African  and 
an  Indian  elephant,  or  between  a  domestic  ox  and  a  buffalo. 
Bnt  the  differences  between  memljers  of  the  same  race  and 
especially  of  the  Caucasian  race,  are  snrely  not  so  signifi- 
cant as  to  jnstif}'  al irnpt  separations  and  clearly  defined 
limitations  of  single  national  types.  Every  white  nation 
contains  faill  and  short  individnals,  light  haired  and  dark, 
with  eyes  bine  or  black,  and  skulls  long  and  short,  some 
of  a  quiet  and  others  of  a  lively  temperament,  and 
although  one  class  ma)  predominate  in  this  nation  and 
anotlier  class  in  that,  yet  all  their  physical  and  mental 
cliaracteristics  combined,  are  not  of  snfiicient  importance 
to  detennine  unequivocally,  that  a  certain  individual  should 
belong  to  a  certain  nation  and  not  to  any  other,  as,  for 
histance,  the  negro  is  recognized  as  lx?longi ng  to  a  ceilain 
race  l»y  his  black  skin,  and  hair  and  bis  peculiar  physiog- 
nomy. The  many  attempts  to  find  tlie  average  type  of 
particular  nationalities  have  no  scientific  value.  The 
descriiition  may  read  agreeabl}-,  and  one's  self-love  may  Iw 
flattered  l»y  the  picture,  bnt  it  in  all  the  mere  invention  of 
fiction.  Where  the  features  of  such  a  tyjie  are  not  arbitra- 
rily invented,  they  consist  in  superficialities,  wliich  are  not 
innate  bnt  assumed ;  which  can  be  laid  aside  even  at  an 
advanced  age,  and  which,  moreover,  would  never  have  lieen 
acquired  if  the  individual  had  lieen  brought  up  from  child- 
hood in  a  foreign  surrounding,  exposed  to  the  influences 
of  an  alien  nationality.  Chamisso,  who  was  already  a  half- 
grown  lad  before  lie  knew  a  word  of  German,  l>eeame  as 
much  of  a  German  man  and  poet  as  any  of  those  in  whose 
veins  the  blood  of  the  old  TiMitonic  guestij  of  Tacitus  is 


FRENCHMEN  AS   TYPICAL   GERMANS. 


347 


claimed  to  flow.     Michelet,  not  the  French  enthusiast,  but 
the  German  philosopher,  reveals  the  intellectual  character- 
istics, the  profoundness,  the  moral  earnestness,  yea,  even 
the  obscuritv.  which  is  considered  so  specifically  German. 
That  agreeable  thinker,  Julius  Duboc,  is  characterized  by 
a  genuine  German  idealism,  and  Du  Bois-Reyraond  is  the 
model  of  a  thorough  German   scholar;    Fontane,  in  his 
views  of  nature  and  his  analysis  of  the  human  soul,  is  not 
only   German    l)ut   specifically   north-German.     We   find 
similar  instances  in  all  other    European   peoples.     Who 
would  insist  that  Ulbach  and  Mueller,  (the  author  of  the 
story  of   village  life,    'La  Mionette,")   were  not  typical 
Frenchmen?     Do  we  not  find  in  Hartzenbusch  and  Becker 
every  single  feature  characteristic  of  the  Spanish  [loets? 
And  what  is  there  un-English  in  Daiue  Gabriel  Rossetti, 
leaving  his  name  out  of  question?     It  is  not  necessary  to 
have  a  single  drop  of  l)lood  in  common  with  a  people  wh(»se 
general  characteristics,  with  all  its  excellencies  and  all  its 
faults  we  assume,  if  we  are  only  living  and  brought  up 
in  its  midst.     If  certain  isolated  authors  and  artists  are 
seemingly  a  contradiction  of  this  statement,  we  had  better 
first  i)roceed  to  investigate  whether  they  and  we,  ourselves, 
are  not  liable  to  be  influenced  by  two  sources  of  error, 
which  it  is  almost  impossible  to  avoid.    For  it  is  a  familiar 
fiict  that  we  yield  with  facility  to  the  inclination  to  seek 
for  those  traits  which  we  have  arbitrarily  ascribed  to  a 
nation— to  the  French,  for  instance,  in  the  case  of  Cham 
isso— and  hence  discover  them,  as  we  know  how  quickly 
we  transform  any  phenomenon  to  conform  to  the  meaning 
ascril)ed  to  it  l)y  our  preconceived  opinions.     While,  on 
the  otlier  hand,  it  is  extremely  probable  that  a  poet  or 
an  artist  of  foreign  extraction,  residing  in  England,  for 
example,  has  the  idea  of  the  land  of  his  forefathers  con- 
tinually in  his  mind,  and  imagines  that  he  must  have 


jH 


k 


NATllLXALITY. 

eertiiiii  peciiliiiritics  wliicli  reiniiid  otliers  of  that  land, 
liifiueiiced  liy  the  siigt!;estioii  exerted  upon  liiiii  by  tliese 
ideas  lie  will  iineoiiseiously  eliaiige  bis  nature  and  assume 
all  sorts  of  artifieial  mannerisms,  in  his  endeavors  to  be- 
eoiiie  like  the  picture  which  he  has  conceived  in  his  mind 
of  tlie  inhaliilant  of  his  native  land.  The  comical  part 
of  the  whole  is,  however,  that  he  docs  not  exhibit  the 
ipialities  that  actnally  belong  to  tlie  ijeople  in  (piestion, 
but,  iustead,  those  which  are  habitually  and  erroneously 
ascribed  to  tlieni  li}-  Knglish  jirejudice. 

It  is  not  couiuion  descent,  therefore,  which  decides  a 
man's  nationality.  The  descciuUuits  of  those  Huguenots 
wlio  euiii^raUMl  to  Brandenburg,  have  liecome  most  excel- 
lent  (icrmaus,  and  the  Dutch  settlers  of  New  Amstei-dam, 
Irreproachiible  North  Americans.  Wars,  euiigration  in 
masses,  and  intercourse  with  other  nations,  have  lilended 
togctlier  beyond  possilnlity  of  recognition  those  national 
elements,  which  were  probably  distinct  enougli  at  first; 
and  the  laws  of  all  civilized  states  show  how  little  value 
they  place  u[>on  common  descent  in  reality,  by  the  fact 
tiiat  tlicy  make  it  possible  for  foi-eignei-s  to  liecoine  "  natu- 
ralized,'' that  is,  to  become  full  citizens  of  a  state  originally 
alien  to  them,  with  the  same  rights  and  duties  as  all  the 
other  indivifhials  of  the  nation. 

Since  tlie  anthropological  foundation  of  this  idea  of 
nationality  can  not  be  defended,  some  have  sought  to  prove 
that  it  has  a  legal  and  historical  foundation.  They  say 
tliat  wluit  fuses  men  intt>  one  nation,  is  a  common  history, 
a  common  destiny;  it  is  the  living  together  under  the  same 
government  and  laws,  the  remembrance  of  like  sufferings 
and  like  iovs.  Tliis  theme  admits  of  line  oratorical  treat- 
ment,  but  it  is,  notwithstanding,  purely  sophistical,  and  is 
contemptuously  thrust  aside  by  all  facts.  Ask  a  lluthe- 
wian  of  Galicia  if  he  considers  himself  a  Pole,  despite  tlie 


NATtONALlTY   NOT   DUE   TO   COMMUNITY  OF   INTERESTS.    3^9 

fact  that  the  Ruthenians  have  shared  the  fate,  the  laws, 
and  the  political  institutions  of  the  Poles  for  more  than  a 
thousand  years,  even  as  far  back  as  our  gaze  can  penetrate 
into  history.     Or  inquire  of  a  Finn— or  a  Suomi,  as  he 
would  call  himself— whether  he  believed  that  he  belonged 
to  the  same  nationality  as  the  Finnish  Swedes,  with  whom 
he,  likewise,  has  formed  a  single  political  people,  for  more 
than  a  thousand  years.     It  is  true  that  the  common  posses- 
sion of  laws  and  institutions,  and  especially  of  habits  of 
life,  of  customs  and  usages,  leads  to  a  mutual  intercourse 
which  may  awaken  a  certain  sentiment  of  fraternity,  while, 
on  the  other  luuid,  it  is  impossible  to  doubt  that  the  Jews, 
for  example,  are  looked  upon  as  foreigners  by  the  peoples 
among  whom  they  live,  chiefly  owing  to  the  fact  that  they 
cling,  with  incomprehensible  blindness  and   obstinacy  to 
certain  external  customs,  such  as  the  measurement  of  time, 
the  observance  of  days  of  rest  and  feast-days,  food  regula- 
tions, the  choice  of  first  names  and  other  matters  which 
dift'cr  in  every  respect  from  the  customs  of  their  Christian 
fellow-citizens,  and  which  must  continually  keep  alive  the 
feermg  of  isolation  and  antagonism  in  the  minds  of  the 
latter''    But  it  is  not  true  that  this  community  of  interests 
is  sufticient  to  form  a  nation  out  of  separate  nationalities, 
nor  that  it  can  impart  a  sentiment  of  common  nationality 
to  the  citizens  of  a  state. 

No.  These  are  all  cunning  subtleties  which  are  shat- 
tered like  soai>bubbles  by  the  breath  of  truth.  The  indi- 
vidual human  being  bears  the  indications  of  his  descent 
upon  his  brow  but  rarely  ;  as  a  general  thing  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  recognize  or  distinguish  them.  He  is  not  spontane- 
ously conscious  of  them  himself  in  an  elementary  way; 
and  all  this  rigmarole  about  'Hhe  voice  of  the  blood"  is 
nothing  but  the  creation  of  the  imagination  of  the  authors 
of  second-rate  suburban  melodramas.   Neither  is  his  nation- 


II 


I 


jifl 


NATIONALITY. 

alitj  tkiteriiiiiied  by  the  laws  and  institutions  of  his  en- 
vironment, altliough  their  influence  upon  the  formation  of 
his  character  is  not  to  lie  denieci  The  language  is  what 
detennines  the  nationality,  solely  aed  exclusively.  This 
alone  is  what  decides  a  man's  relationship  to  a  people ; 
this  alone  is  what  gives  him  his  nationality.  Reflect  for  a 
moment  on  the  importance  of  language  to  the  individual, 
the  share  it  has  in  the  formation  of  his  nature,  his  habits  of 
thought,  his  sentiments,  his  whole  identity  as  a  human  be- 
ing !  It  is  througli  his  language  that  the  individual  assumes 
the  ideas  of  the  people  which  originated  and  developed 
this  language,  to  whicli  it  lias  confided  the  most  secret 
i-niotious  of  its  niiud  and  soul  auil  on  which  it  has  stamped 
all  the  finest  characteristics  of  the  plu}'  of  its  imagination. 
It  is  through  his  language  that  the  individual  becomes  the 
adopted  child  and  heir  of  all  the  thinkers  and  poets,  the 
t(»achers  and  leaders  of  the  people;  it  is  language  that 
brings  liim  lieneath  the  Bimll  of  that  universal  suggestion 
which  is  exerted  upon  all  the  individuals  who  €»ompose  a 
people  by  its  literature  and  history,  and  is  the  cause  of  their 
similarity  in  sentiment  and  action.  His  language  is  really 
the  man  himself.  It  is  tlie  means  by  which  the  most  imiwr- 
tant  and  the  most  numerous  features  of  all  phenomena 
attain  to  his  consciousness,  and  it  is  the  cliief  instrument 
with  which  he  reacts  upon  the  external  world.  There  may 
possibly  be  one  man  in  several  millions,  who  thinks  inde- 
pendently and  evolves  original  ideas  out  of  the  impressions 
upon  his  senses;  while  the  millions  think  the  thoughts 
already  thought  out  for  them  beforehand,  and  which  are 
accessible  to  them  by  language  alone.  There  may  iK>88i- 
bly  be  one  man  in  millions  who  acts  out  his  ideas  and 
renders  them  apparent  to  the  senses  of  others  by  his 
power  to  compel  men  and  nature  to  work  his  will;  while 
the  millions  make  use  of  language  and  make  the  processes 


LANGUAGE   THE    SOLE    FOl  NDATION    OF    NATIONALITY,    ^f)! 

occurring  within  them  apparent  to  others  by  speech  alone. 
Lau-uage  is,  therefore,  by  far  the  strongest  tie  by  which 
huuuiu  beings  can  l»e  connected.     Brothers  and  sisters  not 
speaking  the  same   language  would  find  themselves  Itir 
more  strangers  than  two  entire  strangers  meeting  tbr  the 
first  time  and  exchanging  a  greeting  in  the  same  mother- 
tongue.     We  have  all  seen  instances  of  this,  and  they  are 
continually  occurring  before  our  eyes,  viz.,  that  the  P^nglish 
and   the  North   Americans  have  waged  wars  with   each 
other,  and  their  interests  have  frequently  clashed,  but,  as 
opposed  to  the  non-Englishman,  they  consider  themselves 
one,  they  consider  themselves  sons  of  Great  Britain ;  the 
Flemings  and  the  Dutch  fought  witli  fury  in  1831,  and  yet 
they  are  now  in  the  act  of  concluding  a  new  fraternal 
alliance ;  when  tlie  Boers  fought  ag:iinst  the  English,  the 
heart  of  the  Netherlander  beat  in  anxious  suspense,  despite 
the  fact  that  all  political  connection  between  Holland  and 
the  Cape  had  ceased  to  exist  almost  a  century  ago ;  the 
vast  difference  in  laws,  customs,  political  allegiances  and 
historical  recollections  between  France,  Switzerland  and 
Belgium,  did  not  prevent  the  French-speaking  Swiss  and 
Belgians  from  sympathizing  in  word  and  deed  with  the 
French  in   1870,  with  passionate  but  unjust  ardor:  and 
althouoh  the  people  in  Norway  had  hated  their  thralldom 
to  Den'^nark  for  centuries  and  had  finally  freed  themselves 
from  it,  and  to  this  day  have  no  especially  exalted  opinion 
of  the  Danes,  yet  at  the  time  of  the  Schleswig  Holstein 
war,  many  enthusiastic  Norwegians  hastened  to  oft'er  their 
assistance  to  the  Danish  people  with  whom  they  had  noth- 
iug  in  common  except  their  language.     This  nothing  is,  in 

reality,  everything. 

At  a  stage— long  since  past— in  the  (Vn  elopment  of 
peoples,  the  language  may  have  been  of  Ic^s  importance  to 
tho  individual,  as  well  as  to  the  state,  than  it  is  at  present. 


352 


XATIONAUTY. 


Tliis  was  :it  a  tiiiic  wIk!I1  the  muss  of  the  iiatioo  was  de- 
privecl  of  its  rights  and  eiislavetl,  and  all  i>owcr  was  in  the 
hands  of  a  very  small  miiioritv.  Those  of  low  birth  Iiad 
no  need  of  language,  so  lo  si)i*iik.  To  wiiat  purpose  would 
it  liavc  served  them?  .Vt  ilie  utmost,  lo  groan  or  to  eui"se 
in  their  eabins,  or  to  bandy  coai*se  jokes  at  tlie  drinkiug- 
plaees.  The}'  never  encountered  any  human  l>eings  except 
tliosc  of  their  own  village,  wlio,  without  exception,  all 
s|)oke  the  same  language ;  to  emigrate  to  a  foreign  country 
or  to  see  foixjigncre  at  lionie,  was  something  very  unusual 
All  governing  was  done  with  the  whip,  whose  laconic 
speech  was  underetood  witliont  grammar  and  dictionary  ; 
schools  there  were  none ;  tlie  common  man,  seeking  his 
little  rights  at  the  liauds  of  justice,  was  never  allowed  to 
pour  out  his  heart  liefore  the  judge  in  living  si>eech,  but 
was  oliliged  to  make  an  advocate  the  interpreter  t)f*  his 
complaint;  the  government  would  ne^•er  condescend  to 
any  interchange  of  intpiiry  and  answer  with  its  subjects; 
even  in  the  cluiroli  itself,  no  man  ever  dared  to  say  his 
soul  wag  his  own,  as  Catholicism  represented  its  God  as  a 
distinguislied  foreign  jiotentate  with  whom  no  one  could 
communicate  except  in  the  strange  Latin  tongue,  through 
the  mediation  of  priests  versed  in  that  language.  There 
was  no  necessity  nor  e\en  any  iM>8sibility  for  the  iirivatc 
individual  to  emerge  from  the  narrow  limits  of  iniieritcnl 
surroundings,  and,  assisted  by  speech,  find  his  way  into 
broader  iKitlis.  But  when,  as  iu  numicipal  communities, 
the  people  wei'c  governed  liy  their  own  laws  and  the  citi- 
zens had  oi>portiuiitics  to  discuss  and  decide  their  own 
atlairs,  tlie  (piestion  of  language  became,  at  once,  of  the 
utmost  importance,  and  tlie  citizens,  if  tliey  were  of 
diflerent  philological  (Icscent,  divided  themselves  accord- 
ing to  their  vernaculars  into  nationalities  which  then  con- 
tended with  extreme  bitterness  for  the  supremacy.     The 


IMPORTANCE    OF    LANGITAGE. 


353 


language  was  of  slight  importance  to  tliose  of  noble  birth, 
but  owing  to  a  different  cause.  Their  share  of  power  was 
assured  them  by  their  birth,  and  they  weie  the  lords  and 
rulers  without  having  to  open  tlieir  mouths  or  make  a 
stroke  with  their  pen.  (For  it  is  possible  at  the  present 
day  in  England,  where  all  the  institutions  are  so  perme- 
ated with  mediteval  survivals,  that  a  citizen  of  Holland, 
the  descendant  of  some  Scotchman  who  had  emigrated  to 
Holland  several  generations  ago,  might  suddenly  become 
an  English  peer  and  member  of  the  House  of  Lords,  by 
the  extinction  of  the  male  line  of  the  family  which  had 
remained  in  England.  That  is,  a  portion  of  the  lawgiving 
power  of  the  British  realm,  would  ftill  into  his  hands  with- 
out his  being  obliged  to  l)e  a  citizen  of  England,  or  even  to 
know  a  single  word  of  tlie  English  language  !)  And  in  the 
few  cases  in  which  proclamations  w^erc  recpiired,  the  aristo- 
crat made  use  of  the  Latin  tongue,  with  which  he  was  either 
accpiainted  himself,  or  with  which  at  least  the  priest,  his 
private  secretary,  was  familiar. 

Under  sucii  circumstances,  it  is  easy  to  understand 
that  the  nationality  was  something  subordinate,  because 
the  lanjruajje,  its  chief  distinguishing  feature,  was  likewise 
of  little  importance.  But  at  the  present  day  mankind  has 
advanced  far  beyond  this  stage  of  development  all  over 
the  world,  even  in  Russia  and  Turkey.  The  individual  has 
attained  his  legal  majority ;  he  has  the  right  to  fight  his 
way  out  of  and  beyond  the  rank  in  which  the  accident  of 
birth  has  placed  him,  even  when  he  belongs  to  the  lower 
classes.  Legal  procedures  are  now  oral,  the  government 
lias  become  approachable  to  the  citizens  and  is  responsible 
to  them ;  in  the  school,  in  the  array,  every  single  individ- 
ual composing  the  nation  is  spoken  to,  and  every  one  must 
answer ;  Protestantism  has  taught  the  peoi)le  to  speak  to 
their  God  in  their  own  language,  and  to  demand  instruc- 


M 


"I  ^4 


NATIONALITY. 


tion  and  admonition  from  the  pulpit  in  the  vernacular.  In 
every  profession  a  control  of  language  has  become  a  neces- 
sit}' ;  even  those  supreme  in  rank,  the  monarch  himself,  can 

not  dispense  with  a  certain  fluency  of  language  on  important 
occasions,  and  all  the  municipal  and  political  institutions  re- 
quire tlie  constant  exercise  of  frcn*  speech.  Hence,  language 
lias  liccomc  of  vast  imi^ortance  to  the  individual,  and  everj' 
restriction  of  his  right  to  make  use  of  his  f>wii  language, 
and  every  force  com|)elling  him  to  express  liimself  in  a 
strange  tongue,  seem  to  him  the  most  insuttcrable  outrage 
and  tyranny.  A  man  who  lives  tranciuilly  surroundetl  by 
persons  of  his  own  race,  a  citizen  of  a  community  and 
state  unite*!  as  a  nation,  an«!  thus  so  circumstanced  that 
he  would  never  have  occasion  to  feel  ashamed  of  or 
deny  his  mother-tongue,— such  a  man  has  in  fact  no 
idea  of  tlie  real  significance  of  llu-  (lucstion  of  nationality. 
It  is  as  impossible  to  descrilH*  ruid  explain  tlie  rage  and 
shame  a  man  experiences  in  su(*h  a  situation  as  it  is  t» 
fonn  a  coiTect  conception  of  a  physical  pain  one  has  never 
experienced.  No  one  has  a  right  to  join  in  the  discussion 
of  this  subject  except  those  who  were  lM)ru  in  a  land  where 
tlieir  nationality  was  suppressed  and  in  tlie  minority, 
where;  their  language  was  not  the  official  language,  and 
wliere  tli<»y  were  compelled  to  learn  a  foreign  tongue — 
which  they  never  can  use  except  as  fore ignere—ini less  they 
were  willing  to  renounce  forever  all  hope  of  a  higher  des- 
tiny for  their  personality,  of  an  improved  career,  and  of 
exercising  any  rights  as  citizens  in  the  community  and  in 
the  state,  as  utterly  and  completely  as  a  slave  in  the  Middle 
Ages  or  a  convicted  criminal  at  the  present  da^*.  A  man 
must  liave  experienced  it  himself  to  know  the  sensations  it 
arouses  to  lie  robbed  in  his  own  country  of  all  his  natural 
rights  as  a  human  lieing,  and  compelled  to  grovel  in  the 
iiiit  before  a  strange  nationality.    What  is  the  denial  of 


COMPULSORY  LANGUAGE. 


355 


civil  ri^dits  compared  with  the  renunciation  of  one's  mother- 
ton<rue''^     What  are  fetters  upon  the  hands  and  feet  com- 
pared with  fetters  upon  the  tongue !     A  man  wishes  to 
emer-e  from  himself,  and  he  is  thrust  back  and  locked  up 
within  himself.     He  fee^.s  that  he  could  be  eloquent  and  he 
is  obli^^ed  to  stammer  pitifully  in  a  foreign  tongue.     He 
sees  himself  deprived  of  his  most  powerful  means  of  mflu- 
eucin-  others,  and  he  feels  paralyzed  and  crippled.     A 
man  worthy  of  the  name  will  never  adapt  himself  volun- 
tarily to  such  conditions.     Who  would  renounce,  without 
resistance,  his  own  identity?   Who  would  voluntarily  enter 
upon  a  life  deprived  of  the  grandest  attribute  of  life :   the 
possibility  of  describing  and   carrying  into  effect  one's 
inward  vital  processes— sentiments  and  ideas.     I  can  com- 
prehend the  devout  native  of  India,  who  throws  himself 
beneath  the  car  of  Juggernaut,  and  allows  his  body  to  be 
crushed  •  he  does  not  believe  that  he  is  sacrificing  his  indi- 
vidualitv  in  so  doing;  on  the  contrary,  he  is  endeavoring 
to  c-ain  a  richer  development  for  it  in  a  future  life.     I  can 
comprehend  also  the  Fakir,  who  voluntarily  relioquislies 
the  use  of  a  limb,  and  passes  his  life  in  the  twilight  of  a 
semi-existence  for  years  and  years,  as  a  sort  of  half  man, 
or  human  vegetable ;  he  finds  inspiration  and  reward  in 
the  ideas  he  evolves  in  his  mind  of  the  consequences  of  his 
pious  sacrifice  for  the  welfare  of  his  soul.     But  I  can  not. 
comprehend  those  aiwstatos  who  renounce  their  nation- 
ality, who  stoop  to  assume  a  foreign  language,  and  torture 
it  all  their  lives  long,  a  laughing-stock  to  others,  and  to 
themselves  a  perpetual  disgrace.     Those  who  make  such 
a  sacrifice  from  cowardice,  weakness,  or  stupidity,  are  at 
best  objects  of  pity.     But  how  unspeakably  odious  are 
those  who  throw  away  their  own  language,  which  means 
their  own  self,  the  manifestation  of  their  thinking  Ego, 
and  crawl  into  a  strange  skin,  to  gain  some  personal 


I 


i 


)   »  !    J 


S56 


N'ATTONALITT. 


advantage !  Thej'  are  even  more  degraded  than  the  horri- 
ble Skoptzi,  the  Russian  self-mutilators;  for  the  latter 
emasculate  themselves  for  the  sake  of  a  religious  convic- 
tion, while  those  renegades  allow  themsclvos  to  be  muti- 
lated into  mental  eunuchs  for  raonc}*  and  tiie  equivalents 
of  mone}^  It  is  impossible  to  express  in  words  the  un- 
fathomable depravity  of  sncli  sentiments. 

To  the  honor  of  humanity  be  it  said :  these  disgrace- 
ful aijostates  are  in  the  minorit}-  everywhere.  The  niajor- 
it}'  cling  to  their  language  and  defend  their  national itj-  as 
their  life.  The  governing  race  may  issue  laws,  to  make 
their  tongue  the  oflieial  language,  and  degrade  that  of  the 
subjugated  nationality  to  the  common  dialect  of  teamsters 
and  menials,  excluded  from  tlie  school  and  the  church, 
from  the  courts  of  law  and  the  council  halls ;  but  if,  in 
spite  of  this  degi-adation,  this  language  is  a  well-formed 
and  developed  one,  or  if  it  is  the  prevailing  tongue  in  some 
other  land,  with  a  literature  of  its  own,  and  sei-vcs  anj"- 
where  in  the  world  for  the  highest  manifestations  of  human 
kind  in  statecraft  and  science,  it  never  succumbs  to  its 
degradation.  In  such  a  case  the  oppressed  nationality  lie- 
comes  the  mortal  enemy  of  its  persecutor ;  it  bites  with 
fury  the  hand  that  seeks  to  gag  it ;  it  utters  piercing  cries 
for  help,  iMScause  it  is  not  allowed  to  speak,  and  endeavoi-s 
with  the  energy  of  despair,  to  bring  down  in  ruins  tlie 
goveraraental  structure  which  is  not  a  place  of  refuge  for 
it  but  an  inhuman  prison. 

No  man  of  sound  mind  can  be  i^ersuacled  to  allow 
himself  to  be  guillotined ;  the  French  humorist  has  already 
established  this  fact ;  and  it  is  impossil>le,  l\v  laws  alone,  to 
prevail  upon  a  nationality,  that  has  developed  so  lar  as 
to  have  a  consciousness  of  itself,  to  renounce  its  language 
and  special  characteristics.  A  state,  therefore,  which  in- 
eludes  several  nationalities  is  necessarily  doomed  to  piti- 


DECENTRALTZATION. 


357 


less  internal  dissensions,  and  they  can  never  be  terminated 
except  by  some  radical  solution  of  the  problem. 

One  radical  soUition— which  has  been  proposed  by 
several  politicians-is  the  most  extensive  decentralization. 
As  far  as  we  can  see  now,  such  a  solution  is  imaginal)le 
in  theory  only,  it  could  not  be  carried  into  execution  in 
ftict.     Reflect  for  a  moment,  how  far  such  a  decentraliza- 
tion would  have  to  extend  in  order  to  satisfy  all  the  nation- 
alities of  a  state  not  constructed  upon  the  foundation  of  a 
unity  as  a  people.     It  assumes  that  every  single  citi- 
zen,\o  whatever  race  he  may  belong,  shall  be  allowed 
to  manifest  his  powers  in  all  directions  and  in  all  spheres 
of  labor,  and  to  exercise  all  his  rights  as  a  human  bemg 
and  a  citizen  without  being  compelled  to  use  any  other 
than  his  mother-tongue.     In  this  case  not  only  all  the 
lousiness  of  the  government— from  the  village  post-office 
up  to  the  Cabinet-andof  the  administration  of  law— f-om 
the  lustiee  of  the  peace  to  the  highest  court  of  the  realm- 
would  have  to  be  carried  on  in  all  the  languages  of  the 
land,  Init  the  representative  assemblies  of  the  community, 
the  province  and  the  country  at  large,  would  have  to  b(^ 
conducted  in  all  of  these  languages ;  primary,  intermediate 
and  high  schools  would  have  to  be  organized  for  each 
separate  nationality;    literary  culture  in  each  language 
would  have  to  lead  to  all  the  governmental  and  academical 
honors  and  advantages,  which  usually  form  the  reward  of 
literary  efforts;  in  short,  there  should  not  be  the  slightest 
obligation  for  any  citizen  to  learn  a  foreign  language  to 
enable  him  to  acquire  anything  within  the  reach  of  any 
of  his  fellow-countrymen  without  any  such  obligation. 
These  are  demands  which  cannot  be  realized  in  practice. 
It  would  mean  the  dissolution  of  the  state  into  atoms, 
which  would  no  longer  cohere  in  any  perceptible  way. 
Such  an  extensive  equalization  of  different  peoples  within 


:  <tI-.  >  . 


358 


BATIONAIfT. 


tbe  same  state  is  perhaps  possible  where  only  two  nation- 
alities of  about  equal  number  live  together,  as,  for  instance, 
in  Belgium,  bnt  not  in  a  state  with  ten  or  twelve  nation- 
alities,  as  In  Aastro.Hnngar3f,  where  the  tribes  are  un- 
like  In  nnmbere  and  degree  of  cultivation,  and  not  set 
tied  down  in  masses,  but  scattered  among  each  other  in 
strange  confusion,  where  often  one  village  contains  three 
or  four  nationalities  and  languages,  and  a  district  even 
more  than  this.  Such  a  state  must  have  an  official  or  state 
language.  Consequently  the  nationality'  whose  tongue  is 
the  official  and  more  prominent  language  becomes  the 
ruling  people,  the  equality  of  rights  is  at  an  end,  all  the 
other  nationalities  are  wronged  and  degi-aded  to  a  subor- 
dinate existence ;  there  are  full  citizens  and  half  citizens, 
there  are  certain  inhabitants  of  the  land  who  are  allowed 
by  law  to  speak,  and  others  whom  the  same  law  condemns 
to  dumbness ;  the  fairy  tale  of  the  seven  ravens,  wliich  tells 
how  a  maiden  was  not  allowed  to  speak  a  wonl  for  seven 
years,  becomes  a  governmental  institution,  and  those 
inhabitants  who  are  deprived  of  their  simplest,  and  at  the 
same  time  their  highest  rights  as  human  beings,  find  them- 
selves in  the  unendurable  conditions  described  above. 

There  are  certain  enthusiastic  statesmen  who  seriously 
believe  that  civilized  humanity  will  some  day  arrive  at  a  con- 
dition in  which  large  political  organizations  will  no  longer 
be  necessary.  When  this  state  of  affiiire  comes  to  pass  there 
will  l»e  no  more  wars  and  no  foreign  affairs ;  mankind  will 
resolve  itself  into  large  groups,  like  vast  families  or  moder- 
ate sized  communities,  in  which  the  individual  will  enjoy  all 
possible  freedom  of  development,  whose  members  will  lend 
each  other  all  that  intellectual  and  physical  assistance 
which  man  can  not  dispense  with  in  his  existence.  Each 
o-roup  will  be  independent  of  the  rest,  and  only  when 
©nterprlfleB  are  under  consideration,  which  are  necessary 


IDEAL   SOLUTIONS   OF   THE   PROBLEM. 


359 


and  useful  to  several  at  once,  and  which  one  alone  would 
be  unable  to  carry  out,  then  all  who  have  an  interest  m  the 
aifair  in  question  will  enter  into  a  temporary  agreement, 
haviucr  reference  only  to  a  determined  object.     It  is  true 
that  in  such  a  constitution  of  the  human  race,  there  would 
no  lonc^er  be  anv  question  of  nationality,  as  the  mde- 
pendeut  groups  could  be  so  small  that,  they  would  consist 
only  of  those  who  spoke  one  single  idiom ;  but  rather  than 
believe  in  the  future  realization  of  this  vision,  I  would  pre- 
fer to  accept  the  supposition  that  in  the  course  of  the 
organic  evolution  of  human  beings,  they  will  arrive  at  a 
pohit  some  day  where  they  will  no  longer  need  any  lan- 
guage, or  any  symbolical  action  at  all  to  make  the  states 
of  their  consciousness  apparent  to  others,  but  that  the 
molecular  motion  of  one  brain  will  be  imparted  directly 
to  other  brains  by  a  kind  of  radiation  or  continuous  trans- 
mission     I  ascribe  aV)out  the  same  degree  of  probability 
to  this  imaginary  onward  evolution,  as  to  the  visionary 
backward  evolution  from  the  national  state  into  the  mde- 
pendent  community.     Not  to  wound  any  one's  feelings  I 
will  call  this  degree  of  probability  a  very  high  one  but  I 
expect  in  return,  the  reasonal)le  consession,  that  it  will  be  a 
loner  while  before  it  is  possible  to  attain  to  either  of  these 
two\leals-,  in  any  event,  much  longer  than  the  oppressed 
nationalities  of  the  present  day  are  able  or  willing  to  waif 
Nor  will  it  be  an  easy  matter  to  induce  them  to  accept  a 
universal  language.     It  may  be  possible  that  at  some  dis- 
taut  future,  the  most  cultivated  individuals  of  the  human 
race  as  a  whole,  will  make  use  of  a  common  language  in 
order  to  have  intellectual  intercourse  with  each  other.   But 
it  is  difficult  to  believe,  that  sufficiently  extensive  circles 
of  people  will  ever  become  well  enough  acquainted  with 
this  classical  language  of  the  higher  culture,  to  be  gov- 
emed  by  and  have  justice  administered  in  it    The  leading 


W" 


360 


NATIO'NALrTY. 


men  of  a  oatioe  would  never  toe  willing  to  clothe  their 
thoaghts  in  a  foreign  language  in  their  most  important 
abstract  affairs — when  they  wish  to  initiate  the  \'oiing  into 
the  mj'steries  of  science,  or  to  persuade  tlieir  fellow-citizens 
to  momentous  decisions,  or  when  they  wish  to  proclaim 
the  judgments  passed  by  their  consciences  in  regard  to 
what  is  right  or  wrong.  To  emploj'  a  foreign  tongue 
would  necessaril}'  hamper  their  individuality  and  limit 
their  freedom  of  action. 

Laying  aside  all  other  radical  solutions,  there  remains 
but  one  more,  the  most  radical  of  all — force.  Nothing  will 
ever  be  accomplished  by  Idle  mediation  and  lame  attempts 
at  compromise.  Wiiere  it  is  a  question  of  such  an  original 
possession  as  language,  of  such  an  essential  element  of  the 
l)ei*sonality  itself,  no  allowances  can  be  made ;  every  de- 
mand for  renunciation  must  be  met  by  the  gruff  reply,  "  all 
or  nothing."  The  struggle  for  language  is  another  form 
of  the  struggle  for  existence,  and  must  ha  fought  as  that 
is:  one  kills  the  enemy  or  is  killed  by  him,  or  else  seeks 
safety  In  flight.  The  struggle  between  nationalities  is  the 
finishing  up  of  a  process  which  began  centuries  ago,  in 
part,  tliousands  of  years  ago,  and  all  this  time  has  teen,  as 
it  were,  frozen  up,  but  is  now  at  last  thawing  out  and 
hastening  to  its  conclusion.  How  did  it  happen  tliat  dif- 
ferent nationalities  found  their  way  into  others?  One 
people  invaded  and  conquered  the  country  of  another 
l>eople,  which  the}'  only  partially  dislodged.  Islands  of 
the  conquered  nation  remained  in  the  midst  of  the  con- 
querors, or  else  the  victors  were  not  very  numerous  and 
spread  themselves  over  the  conquered  people  only  as  a 
thin  surface  l&jer.  In  this  case  the  struggle  must  be 
renewed  now,  at  the  point  where  it  ceased  at  the  time  of 
the  conquest  The  victorious  people  must  make  a  final 
OTertion  and  displace  the  invaded  people  once  for  all,  or 


MIGHT   MAKES   RIGHT. 


361 


kill  it  mentally  by  depriving  it  of  its  language  by  sheer 
force  or  else  it  must  allow  the  invaded  people  to  gather 
itself  together  and  defend  itself  against  the  invaders  and 
expel  them  from  the  country  or  else  force  them  to  renounce 
their  mitionalitv.     The  circumstances  are  different  in  other 
cases.     A  part  of  a  people  which  did  not  find  sufficient 
sustenance  and  prosperity  in  their  own  land,  forsook  its 
native  soil  and  settled  in  another  country.     If  this  country 
was  unoccupied  at  the  time,  but  is  now  inhabited  by  tribes 
of  later  immigration,  those  who  first  took  possession  now 
necessarily  consider  the  struggle  for  their  language  as 
merely  one  episode  in  the  war  against  the  natural  obstacles 
with  which  the  overflow  of  a  people  has  always  to  contend 
when  it  sallies  forth  to  found  colonies  in  new  regions  of 
the  earth.     The  colonists  are  obliged  to  protect  themselves 
against  their  human  foes  as  against  swamps  and  streams, 
gUxciers  and  chasms,  fever  and  ravenous  beasts,  famine 
and  cold,  and  they  should  consider  the  prosperity  which 
they  did  not  find  in  their  native  land,  and  sought  in  distant 
climes,  as  merely  the  prize  of  the  conflict  in  which  their 
very  lives  were  at  stake,  and  the  victory  won  over  all  these 
animate  and  inanimate  opponents.     If,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  land  in  which  the  emigrants  made  their  home,  was  in- 
habited, they  should  remember  upon  what  conditions  they 
demanded  and  received  hospitality.     If  the  surrender  of 
their  nationality  was  one  of  these  conditions,  and  they  were 
satisfied  with  this,  their  weakness  and  cowardice  deserve 
no  sympathy,  and  their  hosts  are  right  to  claim  in  return 
for  the  offered  support,  the  renunciation  of  their  language 
and  individuality.     If  they  were  strong  enough,  however, 
to  acquire  for  themselves  a  portion  of  the  foreign  country, 
without  making  any  concessions  of  a  dishonorable  nature, 
they  should  now  have  also  the  strength  and  the  will  to  do 
what  they  ought  to  have  done  then,  once  for  all,  if  they 


360 


NATIOMALITY. 


men  of  a  nation  would  never  be  willing  to  clothe  their 
thoughts  in  a  foreign  language  in  their  most  important 
abstract  affairs — when  the}^  wish  to  initiate  the  young  into 
the  mj'steries  of  science,  or  to  persuade  their  fellow-citizens 
to  momentous  decisions,  or  wlien  the}'  wish  to  proclaim 
the  judgments  pjissed  by  their  consciences  in  regard  to 
wliiit  is  right  or  wrong.  To  employ  a  foreign  tongue 
would  necessarilj^  hamper  their  individualit}'  and  limit 
their  freedom  of  action. 

Laying  aside  all  other  radical  solutions,  there  remains 
Ittit  one  more,  the  most  radical  of  all — force.  Nothing  will 
ever  be  accomplished  by  idle  mediation  and  lame  attempts 
at  compromise.  Where  it  is  a  question  of  such  an  original 
l^ossession  as  Ijinguuge,  of  such  an  essential  element  of  the 
personality  itself,  no  allowances  can  be  made ;  every  de- 
mand for  renunciation  must  be  met  by  the  gruff  reply,  "all 
or  nothing."  The  struggle  for  language  is  another  form 
of  the  struggle  for  existence,  and  must  be  fought  as  that 
is :  one  kills  the  enemy  or  is  killed  by  him,  or  else  seeks 
safety  in  flight.  The  struggle  between  nationalities  is  the 
inishing  up  of  a  process  whieli  l)egan  centuries  ago,  in 
part,  thousands  of  years  ago,  and  all  this  time  has  been,  as 
it  were,  frozen  up,  but  is  now  at  last  thawing  out  and 
hastening  to  its  conclusion.  How  did  it  happen  tliat  dif- 
ferent nationalities  found  their  way  into  others?  One 
people  invaded  and  conquered  the  country  of  another 
Ijeople,  which  they  only  partially  dislodged.  Islands  of 
the  conquered  nation  remained  in  the  midst  of  the  con- 
querors, or  else  the  victors  were  not  verj^  numerous  and 
spread  themselves  over  the  conquered  people  only  as  a 
thin  surfece  layer.  In  this  case  the  struggle  must  be 
renewed  now,  at  the  point  where  it  ceased  at  the  time  of 
the  conquest  The  victorious  people  must  make  a  final 
eTCrtion  and  displace  the  invaded  people  once  for  all,  or 


MIGHT   MAKES   RIGHT. 


361 


kill  it  mentally  by  depriving  it  of  its  language  by  sheer 
force,  or  else  it  must  allow  the  invaded  people  to  gather 
itself' together  and  deleiid  itself  against  the  invaders  and 
expel  them  from  the  country  or  else  force  them  to  renounce 
their  nationality.     The  circumstances  are  different  in  other 
cases.     A  part  of  a  people  which  did  not  find  sufficient 
sustenance  and  i)rospcrity  in  their  own  land,  forsook  its 
native  soil  and  settled  in  another  country.     If  this  country 
was  unoccupied  at  the  time,  but  is  now  inhabited  by  tri])es 
of  later  immigration,  those  who  first  took  possession  now 
necessarily  consider  the  struggle  for  their  language  as 
merely  one  episode  in  the  war  against  the  natural  obstacles 
with  which  the  overflow  of  a  people  has  always  to  contend 
when  it  sallies  forth  to  found  colonies  in  new  regions  of 
the  earth.     The  colonists  are  obliged  to  protect  themselves 
against  their  human  foes  as  against  swamps  and  streams, 
gTaciers  and  chasms,  fever  and  ravenous  beasts,  fariine 
and  cold,  and  they  should  consider  the  prosperity  which 
they  did  not  find  in  their  native  land,  and  sought  in  distant 
climes,  as  merely  the  prize  of  the  conflict  in  which  their 
very  lives  were  at  stake,  and  the  victory  won  over  all  these 
animate  and  inauiniate  opponents.     If,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  land  in  which  the  emigrants  made  their  home,  was  in- 
habited, they  should  remember  upon  what  conditions  they 
demanded  and  received  hospitality.     If  the  suiTender  of 
their  nationality  was  one  of  these  conditions,  and  they  were 
satisfied  with  this,  their  weakness  and  cowardice  deserve 
no  sympathy,  and  their  hosts  are  right  to  claim  in  return 
for  the  offered  support,  the  renunciation  of  their  language 
and  individuality.     If  they  were  strong  enough,  however, 
to  acquire  for  themselves  a  portion  of  the  foreign  country, 
without  making  any  concessions  of  a  dishonorable  nature, 
they  should  now  have  also  the  strength  and  the  will  to  do 
what  they  ought  to  have  done  then,  once  for  all,  if  they 


ill 


I 


CI /JO 


NATIONALITY. 


Imcl  eiiwuntew!  resistantje  m  this  foreign  land ;  either  to 
retire  from  it  eutireiy,  or  with  the  sword  to  wrest  for  them- 
selves a  free  portion  of  the  country,  or  to  perish  in  an 
enterprise  l}e3*ond  their  powers. 

This  is  the  way  the  question  of  nationality  appears  to 
me.  It  is  the  fifth  aet  of  the  great  historical  tragedies 
which  began  to  play  at  the  time  of  tlie  great  migration  of 
nations,  and  in  part  ver^'  much  later.  The  intermissions 
haYe  lasted  a  long  while,  but  they  could  not  continue 
forever.  The  curtain  has  risen  and  the  catastrophe  is 
approaching.  It  will  Im  cruel  and  hard,  but  hard  aud 
cruel  is  the  fate  of  all  that  lives,  and  existence  is  a  conflict 
where  no  merey  is  shown.  The  question  here  is  not  one 
of  right,  but  in  its  highest  and  most  human  sense,  a  ques- 
tion of  might  There  is  no  law  which  can  compel  a  living 
being  to  relhiquish  the  necessary  conditions  of  existence. 
That  is  only  to  be  accomplished  by  force,  and  force  invites 
resistance.  No  legal  f  iiniitic  has  ever  yet  demanded  of  the 
lion  tluit  he  first  enter  suit  for  possession  when  he  wants 
to  eat  a  sheep.  The  lion  takes  the  sheep  because  he  is 
obliged  to ;  it  is  his  right  to  eat  it.  It  would  certainly 
also  1x5  the  right  of  the  sheep  to  kill  the  lion,  if  it  could. 
In  a  matter  of  life  or  equality,  all  ideas  as  to  right  and 
mi*dit  coincide.  This  is  so  evident,  that  even  the  written 
law  of  all  countries  reserves  self-defense  t.>  the  individual 
as  his  right,  and  thus  acknowledges  that  there  are  certain 
situations  in  which  a  man  must  seek  his  rights  in  his 
strength.  And  what  is  war,  but  a  similar  case  of  self- 
defense,  not  by  an  individual,  but  by  a  people.  A  people 
recognizes,  or  thhiks  it  recognizes,  that  something  is  neces- 
sary to  its  life,  or  to  the  conveniences  of  its  life,  and  it 
reaches  for  it  It  has  a  right  to  it,  the  same  right  that  the 
lion  has  to  the  sheep.  Should  another  people  attempt  to 
prevent  it  from  obtaining  this  necessity,  it  must  defend 


WOE   TO  THE   WEAK  ! 


363 


its  ri«4its  with  all  its  might  The  conquered  ought  not 
to  e(mu)lain;  they  can,  at  most,  only  seek  to  renew  the 
strife  If  a  people  has  been  decisively  beaten,  and  no 
prospect  remains  of  its  ever  becoming  the  stronger,  then 
it  must  accept  its  fate  as  the  liiuil  sentence  of  Nature  and 
say  to  itself :  "  I  was  born  a  sheep,  and  must  accommodate 
myself  to  a  sheep's  conditions  of  existence ;  it  would  cer- 
tainly be  better  if  I  were  a  lion,  but  I  am  not  a  lion,  and  it 
is  absurdly  futile  to  quarrel  with  Nature  over  the  fact  that 
she  did  not  cause  me  to  be  born  a  lion." 

A  nationality  which  is  being  deprived  of  its  language, 
is  in  a  position  of  self-defense.     It  has  the  right  to  fight 
for  its  most   precious   possession.     But  when  it  is   not 
stron^r  enough  to  defend  it,  it  ought  not  to  complain.     In 
the  siime  way,  a  ruling  people  has  the  right  to  prevent  the 
freedom  of  its  speech  from  being  diminished  by  the  pres- 
ence of  another  nationality,  and  to  make  no  concessions 
to  the  latter  which  would  interfere  with  its  comfort  and 
convenience  in  any  way.     But  when  it  is  unable  to  estal> 
lish  its  ri<^ht  by  foree,  it  must  resign  itself  to  recognize  the 
other  nationality  as  its  equal ;  it  must  humbly  descend 
from  its  higher  sUindpoint  as  the  ruling  people,  it  must 
even  perish,  if  the  power  to  rule  was  the  condition  of  its 
existence.     I  apply  this  doctrine,  without  the  least  partisan 
feeling,  to  all  struggling  nationalities  alike,  to  the  Germans 
in  Huligary  and  Bohemia,  as  well  as  to  the  Danes  in  North 
Schleswig  aud  the  Poles  in  Posen,  to  the  Rumanians  in 
Siebcnbuergen,  as  well  as  to  the  Italians  in  the  Tyrol.    The 
five  million  Magyars  are  right,  when  they  seek  to  change 
the  eleven  million  non-Magyars  of  Hungary  into  Mag}  ars ; 
they  are  only  continuing  the  process  of  conquest,  which 
they  began  under  Arpad  in  884 ;  but  the  Geiinans,  Slavs 
and  Rumanians  of  Hungary  are  equally  right,  when  they 
defend    themselves,   and   should    they  prove  t»  be  the 


mm 


364 


NATIONAITY 


THE   CONCLUSION  OF  THE   HISTORICAL  DRAMA 


365 


1^' 


skoBger,  should  the}-  conquer  the  scattered  3Iagjar8  of 
Europe,  and  uunihihite  their  tottering  nationality,  the 
3Iagyar8  ought  not  to  complain,  but  accept  the  fate  to 
which  thci}'  kuowiugl}'  exix>sed  themselves,  a  thousand 
3'ears  ago,  when  tliey  invaded  a  strange  land,  and  risked 
their  lives  to  win  luxurious  homes.  The  Czechs  are  right 
in  their  wish  to  form  an  independent  state  and  to  tolerate 
in  it  no  German  nationality ;  it  is  only  resuming  the  battle 
on  the  "Marclifeld  '  and  at  the  White  Mountains ;  but  the 
Germans  are  also  right  in  opposing  greater  force  to  force ; 
and  after  the  two  tlecisive  battles  of  history,  to  fight  a  third, 
and  let  the  Czechs  know,  once  for  all,  that  they  are  not 
IKJWcrful  enough  to  pose  as  conquerors  in  a  land  into 
which  they  were  able  to  steal  twehe  centuries  ago,  because 
no  one  happened  to  oppose  them.  It  is  impossible  for 
Europe  to  escai^e  much  longer  a  mighty  and  violent  rend- 
ing asunder  of  the  different  nationalities.  The  scattered 
fragments  of  peoples  will  either  join  with  the  main  body  of 
their  kind,  or  else  summon  the  latter  to  their  assistance 
and  with  its  aid  suklue  the  lesser  nationalities,  in  the  midst 
of  which  they  are  now  living  and  whose  oppression  they 
are  now  enduring.  The  small  nationalities  who  share  the 
same  country  with  others,  and  have  no  powerful  relatives 
upon  whom  the}'  can  rely,  are  destined  to  destruction. 
They  are  not  able  to  hold  their  own  in  the  struggle  for  ex- 
istence waged  with  their  stronger  fellow-countrymen.  As 
nationalities,  they  must  perish.  The  great  nations  alone 
will  continue  to  exist,  and  among  the  smaller,  only  those 
who  are  so  circumstanced  as  to  be  able  to  found  an  inde- 
pendent, national  political  organization,  expelling  or  reduc- 
ing to  a  subordinate  position,  if  necessary,  all  the  elements 
of  alien  nationalities  which  may  have  settled  among  them. 
It  is  not  probable  that  the  Twentieth  Century  will  pass 
away  without  having  witnessed  the  conclusion  of  this  grand 


historical  drama.  Until  then  a  large  part  of  Europe  will 
see  much  distress  and  blood-shed,  many  crimes  and  deeds 
of  violence;  peoples  will  rage  against  each  other,  and 
whole  races  will  be  pitilessly  crushed  out  of  existence, 
tragedies  of  exalted  heroism  will  be  played  along  with  the 
tragedies  of  human  baseness,  cowardly  multitudes  will 
allow  themselves  to  be  emasculated  without  resistance, 
armies  of  brave  men  will  fVill  with  glory  in  the  combat. 
The  survivors,  however,  will  at  last  enjoy  the  full  posses- 
sion of  their  rights  as  nations,  and  be  themselves  in  word 
and  deed,  always  and  everywhere. 

These  are  gloomy  prospects  that  are  opening  before 
us  but  they  have  no  terrors  for  those  who  have  become 
reconciled  to  the  universal  law  of  life.     Life  is  a  struggle, 
and  the  strength  to  live  is  what  constitutes  the  right  to 
live     This  law  governs  the  suns  in  space  as  well  as  the 
infusoria  in  stagnant  water.     It  governs  nations  as  well 
and  gives  the  direction  to  their  fote  from  which  no  hypo- 
critical legislation  nor  wily  policy,  nor  the  interests  of  any 
dynasty,  nor  the  craftiness  of  any  base   renegades  can 
divert  it.     Sentimcntalism  may  wipe  its  eyes  at  the  spec- 
tacle of  the  destruction  of  a  people.     Rational  minds  com- 
prehend that  it  perished   because  it  did  not  have  the 
strength  to  survive,  and  class  it  with  all  the  other  extinct 
forms  of  existence  which  the  world  has  left  behind  it  in  the 
course  of  its  onward  career. 


A  GLANCE    INTO  THE    FUTURE. 


1  have  ventured  to  draw  upon  the  great,  dark  tablet 
of  the  future  a  picture, — the  picture  of  events  which  I  be- 
lieve will  come  to  pass.    There  is  a  vast  empty  space  on 
this  tablet,  and  I  can  not  resist  the  temptation  to  cover  one 
small  corner  with  a  few  sketclies  drawn  by  my  imagination. 
The  next  generations  will  witness  the  violent  solution  of 
the  question  of  nationality  as  I  have  endeavored  to  show  in 
the  preceding  chapter.     The  small  and  feeble  peoples  will 
disappear,  that  is,  lose  their  language  and  individuality,  like 
the  Vends  in  Lusatia  and  Mecklenburg,  and  the  Celts  in 
Brlttiuiy,  Wales  and  Scotland.     Kindred  races  will  unite 
and  endeavor  to  form  a  single  great  nation,  as  has  already 
been  done  by  the  lower  and  upper  Germans,  the  Provencals 
and  the  northern  French,  and  as  the  Slavs  instigated  by  the 
Russians,  and  the  Scandinavians  have  begun  to  do.    The 
fragments  of  powerful  nations  that  have  emigrated  will 
either  perish  or  else,  supported  by  the  main  strength  of 
the  parent  nation,  ight  their  way  to  the  supreme  control 
of  the  countfj  in  which  they  have  settled,  and  make  it  a 
component  part  of  their  own  nation  and  state.     The  uni- 
versal commotion,  the  striving  and  hurrying,  the  pushing 
and  thrusting  aside,  will  for  a  time  produce  a  chiiotic  con- 
fusion among  the  different  nations,  which  will  finally  crys- 
tallize into  a  few  powerful  formations.     There  will  be  then 
only  four  or  five  great  nations  in  all  Europe ;  each  of  which 
will  be  complete  mistress  in  its  own  domain,  having  ex- 


wtm 


WHICH   NATIONS  WILL   SURVIVE? 


36t 


pelled  or  absorbed  all  foreign  and  disturbing  elements, 
and  have  no  inducements  to  cast  any  glances  beyond  its 
own  boundaries  for  any  but  a  friendly  purpose,  and  for 
neighborly  intercourse.    Which  nations  will  survive  the 
great  struggle  Is  a  matter  not  to  be  decided  by  the  policy 
of  cabinets,  nor  by  the  genius  of  individual  statesmen,  and 
least  of  all,  by  any  mistake  or  achievement,  weakness  or 
strength  of  mind  on  the  part  of  the  leaders.    It  will  be 
decided  by  the  innate,  natural  vital  force  of  the  nations 
themselves,  as  it  may  be  manifested  in  aU  possible  ways : 
in  physical  strength  as  well  as  in  fertility,  in  superionty 
on  the  battlefield  as  well  as  in  progress  in  civilization,  art 
and  science,  in  an  unconquerable  passion  for  unity  as  well 
as  in  tenacious  adherence  to  nationalit>\    It  is  not  an 
accidental  circumstance,  according  U>  my  opinion,  whether 
a  people  is  numerous  or  the  reverse.    The  number  of  the 
individuals  of  a  species  in  the  animal  kingdom  also  seems 
to  me  one  of  its  most  essential  characteristics,  one  of  its 
most  distinctive  features.    If  the  Celts  have  almost  van- 
ished off  the  face  of  the  earth,  if  the  Greeks  have  never 
been  able  to  increase  their  number  beyond  a  few  millions, 
if  the  Magyars,  Albanians,  Basques,  and  the  Grisons  of 
eastern  Switzerland  have  remained  very  small  peoples,  it 
is  because  it  was  not  organically  inherent  in  them  to  be- 
come great.    At  the  time  of  Alfred  the  Great,  the  popula. 
tion  of  England  was  about  two  millions,  and  probably, 
(there  are  no  historical  data  on  the  subject),  that  of  Scan- 
dinavia was  about  the  same.    At  the  present  day  England 
has  34  millions  of  inhabitants,  while  the  population  of  all 
the  Scandinavian  countries  combined  is  merely  eight  mil- 
lions.   Such  different  results  in  the  increase  surely  can  not 
be  due  to  different  conditions  of  climate  and  soil  alone ;  for 
Denmark  and  the  southern  part  of  Sweden  and  Norway 
are  not  essentially  different  from  the  greater  part  of  Eng- 


A  ©LANCl  INTO  fOE  FUTTOl. 

land;  and  hmides  the  Englsh  bave  not  confined  theM- 
aatves  to  their  island,  but  have  peopled  the  greater  part  of 
the  earth  with  their  surplus  vitality  as  a  people.  The  fact 
that  France  at  the  beginning  of  this  century  had  22  million 
inhabitants  and  today  numbers  37  millions,  while  the  popu- 
lation of  Germany  has  increased  during  the  same  period 
§mm  16  millions  to  45  millions,  can  not  be  explained  either 
by  the  difference  in  the  conditions  of  soil  and  climate. 
The  IVench  have  had  the  more  favorable  climate,  the 
larger  territory  and  the  more  fertile  soil,  and  yet  how 
nmterialiy  they  have  fallen  behind  the  Germans !  It  iSj 
Hierefore,  obviously  a  question  of  an  organic  phenomenon, 
ft  physical  characteristic  inherent  in  a  people  from  its  very 
b^nnings.  It  may,  indeed,  be  changed  and  deteriorated 
by  intermi3rtiure  with  other  blood  and  by  unfavorable  con- 
ditions of  existence;  but  under  ordinarily  favorable  cir- 
Gumstances  it  always  asserts  itself  again,  and  leads  finally 
to  the  inevitable  historical  result  which  no  human  power 
Is  able  to  prevent :  viz.,  that  one  people  spreads  over  broad 
territories,  becomes  more  numerous  and  powerful  with 
each  succeeding  centurj',  and  finally  has  entire  sway  over 
whole  continents ;  while  another  people,  not  inferior  to  the 
former  originally,  gradually  ceases  to  keep  pace  with  it, 
shrinks  more  and  more  with  each  century  that  passes, 
diminishes  more  and  more  in  extent  and  importance,  and 
inally  comes  to  lead  only  a  shadowy  existence  or  else 
vanishes  altogether. 

In  this  way  we  arrive  at  a  Europe  which  has  found 
its  internal  equilibrium,  and  in  which  the  few  surviving 
DtlifMis  have  attained  to  all  that  tEey  could  possibly  attain 
by  lh«  utmost  exertion  of  all  their  organic  powers,  in  the 
Vftj  0f  territory,  power  and  nnification.  One  European 
nation  will  then  respect  the  other  and  look  upon  it  as  one 
nf  the  immutable  phenomena  of  nature,  which  are  accepted 


AFTER  THE   FINAL   SETTLEMENT. 


369 


as  something  firmly  established  for  all  time.    The  dividmg 
lines  between  countries  will  be  considered  as  unchange- 
able  as  those  between  the  land  and  the  ocean ,   and  a 
Russian  will  feel  as  little  inclination  to  invade  German 
territory,  or  a  German,  Italian  territory,  as  a  bird  to  live 
under  water,  or  a  fish  in  the  air.     Each  nation  in  its  own 
domain  will  strive  to  improve  its  conditions  of  exist- 
ence,  and,  gradually  remove,  one  after  the  other,  all  the 
obstacles  that  prevent  the  free  development  of  the  mdrnd- 
ual  in  every  direction,  the  most  complete  utilization  of  all 
his  powers,  and  the  most  perfect  well-being  of  the  mdrnd- 
ual  and  of  the  community,  of  which  it  is  possible  to  con- 
ceive;   and  will  finally  establish,  either  by  a  course  of 
gradual  development  or  by  violent  revolutions,  those  forms 
of  government,  society,  industry  and  trade,  which  seem 
most  suitable  to  it  or  to  a  large  majority  of  its  people 
Aside  from  a  tense  intellectual  life,  the  nations  at  that 
time  wiU  have  but  one  universal  occupation,  that  of  gam- 
ing their  daily  bread  from  nature.    The  number  of  persons 
able  to  live  by  avocations  whose  purpose  is  other  than  the 
production  of  food  materials,  will  constantly  dimimsh.    A 
more  comprehensive  utilization  of  natural  forces  and  the 
invention  of  ingenious  machines  will  make  it  possible  to 
dispense  with  nine-tenths  of  the  laborers  now  engaged  m 
the  industries.     A  society  organized  upon  the  principles  of 
solidarity  will  transfom  entire  communities  into  associa- 
tions of  consumption  and  obviate  the  necessity  of  smaU 
urddleii^en.     All  those  who  used  to  support  themselves  as 
r'l'p^kcewrs  and  day-laborers  will  be  compelled  to  return 
t.-  tic  '^pld  and  till  the  soil.    Meanwhile  the  nation  con- 
lr.^Z  to  increase,  the  people  crowd  closer  together,  the 
lin  ,ion  <**  land  which  can  be  allotted  to  each  individual 
]rr^yo  rr.r -traitly  smaller,  and  the  struggle  for  existence 
cono^     :     ^  vr  3  cliflacult    The  methods  of  agriculture  and 


I 


I 


A  ©LANCE  INTO  THE  PUTUBE. 


cattlc-raising  wiU  be  more  imcl  more  improved ,  deserta 
will  be  transformed  into  gardens,  streams  and  lakes  into 
ish-preserves ;  tbe  soil  will  yield  results.never  before  con- 
ceived possible ;  but  finally  the  bonr  will  arrive,  when  in 
apiteof  aU  arts  the  soil  can  no  longer  be  forced  to  increase 
Its  yield,  and  the  question  of  food  will  rise  like  a  spectre 
before  the  nation.    Where  can  food  be  procured  for  the 
adults,  whose  lives  have  been  lengthened  by  the  more 
highly  developed  sanitary  science?   Where  can  it  be  found 
for  the  children,  who  are  bora  annually  by  hundreds  of 
thousands  and  who  have  all  good  appetites?    It  has  ceased 
to  be  possible  simply  to  cross  the  borders  and  peacefuOy 
overflow  into  the  neighboring  countries,  as  nearly  identical 
conditions  prevail  throughout  the  whole  of  Europe,  and 
the  difficulties  of  one  nation  are  the  same  as  those  of  the 
fest.    In  the  same  way,  a  resort  to  force  is  out  of  the 
question.     No  campaigns  are  undertaken  to  annihilato 
another  nation  or  expel  it  from  its  home,  or  unite  it  by 
force  to  the  invading  nation.    Civilization  has  reached 
abont  the  same  point  everywhere;  customs  and  institutions 
have  become  alike;  an  animated  intercourse,  easy  and 
cheap,  has  bound  all  the  nations  together  by  a  thousand 
intimate  tiesj  any  attempt  to  seize  foreign  possessions 
would  be  considered  a  criminal  offense,  and  it  would  not 
only  be  considered  a  crime,  but  an  extremely  dangerous 
and  hence,  foolish  undertaking  as  well    For  all  the  nations 
of  Europe  will  have  the  same  perfect  and  terrible  weapons, 
the  same  military  systems  and  trainhag  in  the  art^  of  wto; 
and  if  a  sanguinary  conflict  were  entered  upon  with  some 
neighboring  people  to  deprive  it  of  land  and  home,  the 
cftct  would  be  not  to  gain  new  abodes  for  the  surplus 
population,  for  which  the  country  had  become  toorBmall, 
but,  for  want  of  room  at  home,  to  send  it  to  certauiC  death. 
Moreover,  there  would  no  longer  be  any  jealousy  between 


THE  FOOD  OtJESTION. 


sn 


the  nations,  since  tlie  scroggles  between  them  wonld  he  m 
the  past,  and  the  right  to  existence  of  each  great  surviving 
nation  be  perfectly  recognized  by  all  the  rest.    The  mhal^ 
?tenL  of  the  entire  continent,  uniformly  cvdized  and 
cultured,  and  uninterruptedly  exchanging  ideas,  will  gr^- 
uaUy  come  to  look  upon  all  the  nations  of  Europe  bb  raem- 
bers  of  a  single  family,  those  ot  the  same  nation  as 
brothers,  and  all  other  white  men  as  cous.ns  ^[^^^^ 
the  same  way.  as  the  inhabitants  of  a  stat«  or  province 
under  a  national  government  have  -  disposition  now  ^ 
invade  a  sister  province,  expel  its  inhabitants,  and  se  ze 
their  land,  so  will  also  the  idea  of  inflicting  such  an  out- 
rage on  a  neighboring  European  nation  not  occur  to  a^ 
„7tion  there.    What.  then,  is  to  be  done  t«  solve  he  food 
problem?    The  operation  of  one  of  the  laws  of  nature  wiU 
Ln  begin  to  make  itself  felt.    The  excess  of  populaUon 
in  Europe  wUl  flow  out  of  the  continent  m  the  direction  m 
.hich  it  meets  with  least  resistance.    This  least  ■•««« 
is  ofl-ered  by  the  colored  races,  who  are  therefore  destined 
to  be  first  driven  back  by  the  sons  of  the  white  race,  and 
finally  exterminated.    The  sense  of  fellowship  and  con^ 
monLrests  which  will  have  gradually  come  to  include 
all  Europeans,  will  not  extend  to  non-E.uropeans.    The 
uniformity  of  civilization,  an  element  of  similarity  between 
the  nations  of  Europe,  will  not  exist  between  the  latter  and 
the  inhabitants  of  the  other  continents.    The  application 
of  force,  useless  in  Europe,  promises  easy  results  m  other 
countries.    The  emigrating  European  will  not  leave  the 
temperate  zone,  which  is  most  beneficial  ^n^  agreeable  to 
him,  more  than  is  absolutely  necessary.     He  '^J »  s^tUe 
first  the  whole  of  North  America  and  Australia^  all  Africa 
and  South  America  south  of  the  torrid  zone.     He  wdl  then 
take  possession  of  the  southern  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean 
Rud  penetrate  into  the  most  hospitable  portions  of  Asia. 


V 


i 


f« 


I 


372 


A  GLANCE  INTO  THE  FUTURE. 


The  natives  at  irsl  will  attempt  resistance,  but  will  soon 
ind  their  only  safety  in  flight  They  will  give  way  before 
the  Baropeans  and  in  their  turn  overwhelm  the  weaker 
races  in  their  rear,  whom  they  will  treat  as  they  themselves 
have  been  treated  by  the  stronger  whites.  Each  genera- 
tion, however,  will  produce  in  Europe  a  new  swarm  of 
bmnan  beings,  in  excess  of  the  capacity  of  the  land  to  sup- 
port them,  who  will  be  obliged  to  emigrate;  the  new  stream 
will  spread  beyond  the  banks  of  the  former  torrent  and 
the  frontiers  of  European  colonization  move  farther  and 
lirther  into  the  interior  of  the  foreign  continents,  con- 
stantly approaching  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  equator. 
The  inferior  races  wOl  soon  become  entirely  extinct,  I 
see  no  escape  for  them.  Missionaries  may  supply  them 
with  any  quantity  of  Bibles  and  external  Christianity; 
theoretical  philanthropists,  who  have  never  seen  a  negro 
or  an  Indian  except  in  pictures  or  in  Hagenbeck's  caravans, 
may  be  sentimental  on  the  subject  of  the  cliild  of  the 
wilderness,  and  the  romantic  Maoris  and  Caribs — ihc  Cau- 
casian is  better  prepared  for  the  struggle  for  existence 
than  any  other  human  race,  and  as  fast  as  the  white  man 
requires  the  land  of  the  savage  to  live  upon,  he  will  take 
it  without  hesitation.  The  individuals  of  tlic  black,  red  or 
yellow  races  will  then  be  his  enemies,  as  it  is  to  their  inter- 
est to  render  his  existence  more  difficult  or  impossible,  and 
he  will  proceed  to  treat  them  as  he  has  treated  the  animalis, 
the  enemies  of  his  children,  his  flocks  and  his  fields,  as  he 
has  treated  the  great  felines  of  Africa  and  India,  the  bears, 
wolves  and  buffaloes  of  the  primeval  European  forests-he 
will  exterminate  them  till  not  a  vestige  remains.  The  first 
stage  of  our  journey  into  the  future  was  the  final  establish- 
ment of  the  boundaries  of  the  great  nations  that  survived 
the  struggle  for  language  and  individuality,  which  was 
followed  by  the  universal  intellectual  development  and 


fl 


THE  LIMITS  OP   nfMIGRATION. 


373 


great  increase  of  the  different  European  nations.  Tlie 
second  stage  was  the  settlement  of  the  whole  earth  by  the 
sons  of  the  white  race,  after  Europe,  first,  and  then  the 
temperate  zones  of  the  other  great  continents  had  become 
too  small  for  them,  and  the  extermination  of  the  lower  and 
weaker  races.  Many  hundreds  and  perhaps  thousands  of 
years  will  elapse  before  the  white  man  will  be  driven  by 
the  pangs  of  hunger  to  the  upper  portion  of  the  Congo,  to 
the  banks  of  the  Ganges  and  the  Amazon;  before  the  last 
savage  of  the  forests  of  Brazil,  New  Guinea,  and  Ceylon 
will  have  disappeared  before  him;  but  this  will  fiually 
come  to  pass,  and  the  whole  earth  will  be  subject  to  the 
plow  and  the  locomotive  of  the  sons  of  Europe. 

Will  a  stationary  period  then  ensue?  Will  the  evolu- 
tion, the  progressive  development  of  mankind  then  cease? 
No.  The  history  of  the  the  world  is  the  perpetuum  mobile, 
and  it  runs  on  and  on  farther  than  we  can  follow  it.  The 
white  or  Caucasian  race,  which  will  be  the  only  one  sur- 
viving upon  the  earth,  will  continue  to  flourish  vigorously 
in  its  old  home  on  the  continent  of  Europe  and  in  the  tem- 
perate zones  of  other  lands.  The  nations  will  continue  to 
increase,  and  a  new  generation  will  be  continually  gi-owing 
up,  demanding  room  on  the  earth  and  a  place  at  the  table; 
and  after  several  ages  it  will  again  be  necessary  for 
the  new  generation  to  seek  a  home  away  from  the  old 
hive.  But  by  that  time  there  will  no  longer  be  any  inferior 
races,  which  they  can  crowd  out  and  exterminate  easily 
and  without  the-  poignant  consciousness  of  outraging  a 
brother.  Men  will  everywhere  encounter  their  own  type 
of  physiognomy  and  figure,  everywhere  kindred  European 
languages,  views,  manners  and  customs,  everywhere  the 
familiar  forms  of  government  and  civilization,  and  every- 
where some  civilized  white  man  will  have  written  his  right 
and  title  to  the  land  in  the  sacred  furrows  of  the  plow. 


A  GLANCE  INTO  THK  FUTURE. 


m 


fhe  natives  at  irst  will  attempt  resistance,  but  will  soon 
ind  their  only  safety  in  flight     They  will  give  way  before 
the  Bnropeans  and  in  their  turn  overwhelm  the  weaker 
races  in  their  rear,  whom  they  will  treat  as  they  themselves 
have  been  treated  by  the  stronger  whites.    Each  genera- 
tion, however,  will  produce  in  Europe  a  new  swarm  of 
human  beings,  in  excess  of  the  capacity  of  the  land  to  sup- 
port them,  who  will  be  obliged  to  emigrate;  the  new  stream 
will  spread  beyond  the  banks  of  the  former  torrent  and 
the  frontiers  of  European  colonization  move  farther  and 
farther  into  the  interior  of  the  foreign  continents,  con- 
stantly approaching  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  equator. 
The  inferior  races  will  soon  become  entirely  extinct.     I 
see  no  escape  for  them.    Missionaries  may  supply  them 
with  any  quantity  of  Bibles  and  external  Christianity; 
theoretical  philanthropists,  who  have  never  seen  a  negro 
or  an  Indian  except  in  pictures  or  in  Hagenbeck's  caravims, 
may  be  sentimental  on  the  subject  of  the  cliild  of  the 
wilderness,  and  the  romantic  Maoris  and  Caribs — the  Cau- 
casian is  better  prepared  for  the  struggle  for  existence 
than  any  other  human  race,  and  as  fast  as  the  white  man 
requires  the  land  of  the  savage  to  live  upon,  he  will  take 
it  without  hesitation.    The  individuals  of  the  black,  red  or 
yellow  races  will  then  be  his  enemies,  as  it  is  to  their  inter- 
est to  render  his  existence  more  difficult  or  impossible,  and 
he  will  proceed  to  treat  them  as  he  has  treated  the  animals, 
the  enemies  of  his  children,  his  flocks  and  his  fields,  as  he 
has  treated  the  great  felines  of  Africa  and  India,  the  bears, 
wolves  and  buffaloes  of  the  primeval  European  forests— he 
will  exterminate  them  till  not  a  vestige  remains.    The  first 
stage  of  our  journey  into  the  future  was  the  final  establish- 
ment of  the  boundaries  of  the  great  nations  that  survived 
the  struggle  for  language  and  individuality,  which  was 
followed  by  the  universal  intellectual  development  and 


THE  LIMITS   OP   DDIIGRATION. 


373 


^ 


great  increase  of  the  different  European  nations.  The 
second  stage  was  the  settlement  of  the  whole  earth  by  the 
sons  of  the  white  race,  after  Europe,  first,  and  then  the 
temperate  zones  of  the  other  great  continents  had  become 
too  small  for  them,  and  the  extermination  of  the  lower  and 
weaker  races.  Many  hundreds  and  perhaps  thousands  of 
years  will  elapse  before  the  white  man  will  be  driven  by 
the  pangs  of  hunger  to  the  upper  portion  of  the  Congo,  to 
the  banks  of  the  Ganges  and  the  Amazon;  before  the  last 
savage  of  the  forests  of  Brazil,  New  Guinea,  and  Ceylon 
will  have  disappeared  before  him;  but  this  will  finally 
come  to  pass,  and  the  whole  earth  will  be  subject  to  the 
plow  and  the  locomotive  of  the  sons  of  Europe. 

Will  a  stationary  period  then  ensue?    Will  the  evolu- 
tion, the  progressive  development  of  mankind  then  cease? 
No.    The  history  of  the  the  world  is  the  perpetuummohUe, 
and  it  runs  on  and  on  farther  than  we  can  follow  it.    The 
white  or  Caucasian  race,  which  will  be  the  only  one  sur- 
viving upon  the  earth,  will  continue  to  .flourish  vigorously 
in  its  old  home  on  the  continent  of  Europe  and  in  the  tem- 
perate zones  of  other  lands.    The  nations  will  continue  to 
increase,  and  a  new  generation  will  be  continually  growing 
up,  demanding  room  on  the  earth  and  a  place  at  the  table; 
and  after  several  ages  it  will  again  be  necessary  for 
the  new  generation  to  seek  a  home  away  from  the  old 
hive.    But  by  that  time  there  will  no  longer  be  any  inferior 
races,  which  they  can  crowd  out  and  exterminate  easily 
and  without  the-  poignant  consciousness  of  outraging  a 
brother.    Men  will  everywhere  encounter  their  own  type 
of  physiognomy  and  figure,  everywhere  kindred  European 
languages,  views,  manners  and  customs,  everywhere  the 
familiar  forms  of  government  and  civilization,  and  every- 
where some  civilized  white  man  will  have  writU'^.n  his  right 
and  title  to  the  land  in  the  sacred  furrows  of  the  plow. 


374 


A  0LANCE  INTO  THE  FUTtlEl. 


In  wblcli  direciion  are  tlie  emigrants  to  tiirn?    What  is  to 
be  done  with  those  born  in  such  excess  in  the  oldest  civ- 
ilized countries?    A  certain  law  will  still  be  in  operation, 
and  again  it  will  open  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty— the  law 
of  least  resistance.    There  will  no  longer  be  any  inferior 
races,  but  the  descendants  of  the  white  emigrants  who 
have  settled  nearest  the  equator  will  deteriorate  organically 
in  the  tropical  climate,  and  become  a  subordinate  human 
species  in  the  course  of  a  few  generations,  so  that  they 
will  compare  with  their  cousins  in  more  favorably  situated 
countries,  as  the  negro  or  redskin  now  compares  with  the 
white.    The  fact  that  this  must  be  the  case  is  established 
beyond  a  doubt    The  most  virile  and  warlike  white  peo- 
ples degenerate  in  hot  regions  in  the  course  of  a  few 
generations,  until  they  become  so  feeble  and  indolent,  so 
stupid  and  cowardly,  so  incapable  of  any  resistance  to 
vices  and  ruinous  habits,  that  they  become  in  time  scarcely 
more  than  the  shadows  of  their  fathers  and  ancestors,  if 
they  do  not  die  out  entirely  from  barrenness  and  disease. 
This  was  the  fate  of  the  noble  Vandals,  in  less  than  a  cen- 
tury ;  as  Germanic  giants  they  conquered  Carthage,  and  a 
hundred,  yeara  later,  as  whining  weaklings,  they  were 
driven  out  by  the  wretched  Byzantines.    The  same  phe- 
nomenon  is  observed  even  at  the  present  day,  whenever  a 
tropical  country  is  subdued  by  a  people  of  the  Caucasian 
race      The  English  government  makes  every  effort  to 
increase  the  number  of  marriages  between  the  Engljsli  sol- 
diers  and  white  women  in  India,  but  all  in  vain.    "We  have 
never  succeded,"  as  Mayor-General  Bagnold  expresses  it, 
«in  raising  enough  male  children  to  keep  the  regiment 
supplied  with  drummers  and  pipers.    In  French  Guiana, 
according  to  a  ine  report  by  Br.  J    Orgeas,  418  mat- 
liases  were  solemnized  between  Europeans  from  1859  to 
1882     Of  these  marriages,  215  have  been  childless,  th€ 


I 


I 


FATE  OF  WHITE  EMIGRANTS  TO  THE  TROPICS.      375 

remaining  203  have  produced  offspring  to  the  number  of 
403.  Of  these  children,  24  were  still-born ;  238  died  at 
different  ages  between  April,  1861,  and  January,  1882. 
After  23  years,  therefore,  141  children  represented  the  en- 
tire posterity  of  836  married  Europeans.  And  the  appear- 
ance of  this  new  generation!  They  were  almost  uniformly 
creatures  with  small  skulls,  stunted  in  their  growth, 
wrinkled,  and  afflicted  with  manifold  deformities. 

The  settlers  between  the  tropics,  therefore,  are  doomed 
to  deterioration ;  they  not  only  fail  to  advance  the  civiliza- 
tion which  they  have  brought  with  them,  they  even  lose  it 
entirely,  and  soon  have  nothing  left  of  their  birthright  but 
a  debased  language  and  the  self-conceit  of  the  caste,  none 
of  whose  distinctive  features,  physical  or  intellectual,  have 
been  retained.   In  presence  of  these  degenerate  starvelings 
the  vigorous  immigrants  entertain  no  scruples,  and  the  fee- 
ble resistance  the  former  are  able  to  oppose  is  not  worthy 
of  consideration.   A  new  stratum  of  human  beings,  needing 
land  and  sustenance,  therefore  spreads  out  over  these 
lands  bathed  in  the  sun's  most  fervid  rays,  burying  be- 
neath it  the  previous  layer  v/hich  has  been  dried  up,  and 
resuming  the  ineffectual  battle  with  the  climate.    The 
equatorial  regions  will  therefore  perform  the  same  function 
in  the  future  history  of  man  as  in  meteorology.    In  the 
same  way  as  the  cold  waters  of  the  poles  flow  toward  the 
equator,  evaporate  there,  and  are  sent  back  in  the  form  of 
vapors  and  clouds ;  in  the  same  way  as  the  ocean's  surface 
is  lowered  by  this  evaporation,  which  lowering  must  be 
counteracted  by  the  arrival  of  new  waters  from  the  cold 
regions;  in  the  same  way,  finally,  as  the  waters  of  all  the 
oceans  are  thus  kept  in  constant  motion,  the  respective 
rain-fall  upon  the  whole  earth  regulated  and  the  remotest 
lands  made  fertile,  so  the  surplus  wiii  tbcri  flow  from  the 
older  civilized  countries  to  the  tropics,  perish  there,  evap- 


376 


A  GLANCE  INTO  THE  FUTURE, 


orate,  as  it  were,  and  be  replaced  by  a  constant,  flowing 
stream.    The  equator  will  become  a  fearful  caldron  in  which 
liuman  flesb  will  melt  and  evaporate.     It  will  be  a  revival 
of  the  ancient  worship  of  Moloch.    The  peoples  of  the 
temperate  zones  will  cast  a  portion  of  their  children  into  the 
jaws  of  the  fiery  furnace  and  thus  manage  to  retain  room 
in  which  to  prosper  and  develop,  themselves.     The  picture 
is  horriblG ;  the  reality,  however,  is  not.    For  it  is  not  a 
painful  death  to  which  the  children  of  the  nations  are  con- 
demned   A  life  of  luxurious  ease  smiles  invitingly  be- 
fore them  in  the  tropical  climes ;  soft  breezes  and  waves 
envelop  them ;  field  and  forest  offer  them  food  in  abund- 
ance, without  compulsion;    existence  seems  easier  and 
more  delightful  to  them  than  to  their  fathers  and  brothers 
on  the  refractory  home  soil ;    and  with  sweet,  burning 
kisses,  to  which  they  yield  themselves  in  a  voluptuous 
ecstasy,  the  sun  drains  their  life  from  eveiy  pore.    It  is  a 
death  which  every  effeminate  nature  will  prefer  to  the  rude 
struggle  for  existence ;  it  is  a  gentle  melting  and  dissolv- 
ing away,  which  is  as  delightful  as  an  opium  dream,  and 
which  is  more  likely  to  arouse  envy  than  pity. 

However,  the  equator  will  not  always  answer  the  pur- 
pose of  a  caldron  or  evaporator  for  mankind ;  it  wUl  not 
always  be  the  safety-valve,  opening  as  often  as  the  pressure 
becomes  too  great  in  the  older  civilized  countries.  A  time 
will  come  when  the  circumstances  will  be  entirely  tlie 
reverse.  The  cooling  of  the  earth  is  constantly  going  on, 
the  belt  of  eternal  ice  at  the  poles  spreading  farther  and 
farther  downward,  it  will  include  one  parallel  of  latitude 
after  another,  and  constantly  choke  the  life  out  of  new 
regions.  Human  beings  wilLemigrate  towards  the  tropics 
more  eagerly  than  ever,  but  the  torrid  zone  will  have  ceased 
to  be  the  insidious,  caressing  destroyer,  and  have  b'.-come 
the  mizQ  of  iiiao^iind.  She  alone  will  still  fce^  It  r^iU-^rea 


; 


rHE    SToxi,*, 

abundant;  she  alone  still  allows  them  a  chance  for  complete 
development  \*^nd  cheerful  prosperity,  and  to  be  and  remain 
wise  and  strong;    All  culture  and  all  civilization  will  center 
near  the  equator.   Pjilaces  and  academies,  high-schools  and 
museums,  will  arise  there;  there  men  will  think,  investigate, 
invent,  create.    There  alone  will  men  still  be  able  to  live 
out  their  lives  to  the  full.    So  much  the  worse,  therefore, 
for  the  indolent,  the  easy-going,  or  the  timid,  who  have  re- 
mained too  long  in  the  older  countries.     When  at  last, 
forced  by  the  encroaching  barriers  of  ice,  they  do  take 
their- staff  in  hand  for  the  journey,  they  will  find  the  more 
comfortable  dWelUng-places  already  pre-empted  and  well 
guarded  by  a  valiant  race,  which  has  become  more  flourish- 
ing and  powerful,  while  they  have  been  growing  weaker 
from  cold  and  hunger.    They  may  encamp  around  the  bor- 
ders of  the  magic  circle  like  a  flock  of  wolves,  and  gaze  with 
ravenous  glances  over  into  the  land  of  plenty ;  but  when- 
ever they  venture  to  invade  it  and  skirmish  for  booty,  they 
will  be  driven  back  into  their  icy  deserts  by  the  strong 
and  robust  masters  of  the  favored  land.     And  after  that  ? 
What  will  happen  after  that,  I  know  not.    Here  the  sombre 
future  becomes  darker  and  darker  still.    I  can  not  dis- 
tinguish anything  further,  and  thus  my  story  must  end. 


376 


A  GLANCE  INTO  THE  FUTURE. 


orate,  as  it  were,  and  be  replaced  by  a  constant,  flowing 
stream.    The  equator  will  become  a  fearful  caldron  in  which 
human  flesh  will  melt  and  evaporate.    It  will  be  a  revival 
of  the  ancient  worship  of  Moloeh.    The  peoples  of  the 
temperate  zones  will  cast  a  portion  of  their  children  into  the 
jaws  of  the  fiery  furnace  and  thus  manage  to  retain  room 
in  which  to  prosper  and  develop,  themselvea.     The  picture 
is  horriblG ;  the  reality,  however,  is  not.    For  it  is  not  a 
painful  death  to  which  the  children  of  the  nations  are  con- 
demned   A  life  of  luxurious  ease  smiles  invitingly  be- 
fore them  in  the  tropical  climes  ;  soft  breezes  and  waves 
envelop  them;  field  and  forest  ofier  them  food  in  abund- 
ance, without  compulsion;    existence  seems  easier  and 
more  delightful  to  them  than  to  their  fathers  and  brothers 
on  the  refractory  home  soil ;    and  with  sweet,  burning 
kisses,  to  which  they  yield  themselves  in  a  voluptuous 
ecstasy,  the  sun  drains  their  life  from  ever>'  pore.    It  is  a 
death  which  every  efieminate  nature  will  prefer  to  the  rudo 
struggle  for  existence ;  it  is  a  gentle  melting  and  dissolv. 
ing  away,  which  is  as  delightful  as  an  opium  dream,  and 
which  is  more  likely  to  arouse  envy  than  pity. 

However,  the  equator  will  not  always  answer  the  pur- 
pose of  a  caldron  or  evaporator  for  mankind ;  it  wUl  not 
always  be  the  safety-valve,  opening  as  often  as  the  pressure 
becomes  too  great  in  the  older  civilized  countries.  A  time 
will  come  when  the  circumstances  will  be  entirely  tlie 
reverse.  The  cooling  of  the  earth  is  constantly  going  on, 
the  belt  of  eternal  ice  at  the  poles  spreading  farther  and 
farther  downward,  it  will  include  one  parallel  of  latitude 
after  another,  and  constantly  choke  the  life  out  of  new 
regions.  Human  beings  wilLemigrate  towards  the  tropics 
more  eagerly  than  ever,  but  the  torrid  zone  will  have  ceased 
to  be  the  insidious,  caressing  destroyer,  and  have  b^-come 
the  nui  .:c  of  aiaii^ind.  She  alone  will  still  fcc^  1 


'he  S'roi.-4., 

abundant;  she  alone  still  allows  them  a  chance  for  complete 
development  \*»-nd  cheerful  prosperity,  and  to  be  and  remain 
wise  and  strong!    AH  culture  and  all  civilization  will  center 
near  the  equator.   Maces  and  academies,  high-schools  and 
museums,  will  arise  there;  there  men  will  think,  investigate, 
invent,  create.    There  alone  will  men  still  be  able  to  live 
out  their  lives  to  the  full.     So  much  the  worse,  therefore, 
for  the  indolent,  the  easy-going,  or  the  timid,  who  have  re- 
mained too  long  in  the  older  countries.     When  at  last, 
forced  by  the  encroaching  barriers  of  ice,  they  do  take 
their- staff  in  hand  for  the  journey,  they  will  find  the  more 
comfortable  dWelling-places  already  pre-empted  and  well 
guarded  by  a  valiant  race,  which  has  become  more  flourish- 
ing and  powerful,  while  they  have  been  growing  weaker 
from  cold  and  hunger.    They  may  encamp  around  tiie  bor- 
ders of  the  magic  circle  like  a  flock  of  wolves,  and  gaze  with 
ravenous  glances  over  into  the  land  of  plenty ;  but  v  hen- 
ever  they  venture  to  invade  it  and  skirmish  for  booty,  tUey 
will  be  driven  back  into  their  icy  deserts  by  the  strong 
and  robust  masters  of  the  fovored  land.    And  after  that  ? 
What  will  happen  after  that,  I  know  not.    Here  the  sombre 
future  becomes  darker  and  darker  still.    I  can  not  die- 
tinguish  anything  further,  and  thus  my  story  must  end. 


,,■»,:  1,1-,, 


;q 


!»■' 


376 


ftr-^-^f  .-/. 


^: 


%/r^ci'^'^  TE 


fO  THE  FUTURE. 


«* 


WEBSTER 

....DICTIONARY 


-:o:- 


27  Hfliil  WJIRTIC!  MITf  V  TII71?TWI?n 
I,01IU    WUtlilD  f  UiiliX  UMMliEiU 


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and  natural. 

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elevating. 


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books  grow 

Im  favor 

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supreme  character  sketch  and  an  unusually  interesting  story.  • 

THE  COLOSSUS 

Pronounced  by  an  eminent  literary  critic  to  be  "the  most  thoughtful 
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EMMET  BONLORE 

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tuU  of  action,  incident  and  humor. 

LEN  OANSETT 

"No  one  can  read  the  book  without  being  hettered.^^—Amer^mn  Cfm>- 
fascial  TraveUer. 

THE  TEAR  IN  THE  CUP  and  Other  Stories 

Many  of  these  are  world-wide  in  fame,  and  every  one  aaa  somtf 
Startling  deuounmeut.   They  are  typical  American  stories. 

tMRO  It  LEE  PulUislierSt  263  Wabash  Avenue.  Cblc^pk 


If  I ':' 


A  MARKED  INNOVATION 

THE  PASTIMi  SERIES 


tile  most  popular  collection  of  Standard  Novels  now  before 
the  public  lias  had  recently  added  the  complete  works  of 

Wn.  H.  THOMES 

These  thrilling  stories  of  travel  and  adventure  have  never  been 
sold  for  less  than  50  cents  in  paper  covers.     When  first  published 
in  cloth  they  sold  for  $2.00  per  volume.     Now  offered  complete 
unabridged,  unchanged,  at  25  cents. 

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A  GOLD  HUNTER'S  ABVEKTURES  IN  AUSTRA  Ji 
A  WMAIiEMAN'S  ABYMT  RES  ON  SEA  ANB  LANB. 

THE  BUSHRANOERS;  A  Yankee's  Adrentiures  Bnriiig  a  Seeoni 
Trip  to  Australia. 

A  SLATER'S  ABYENTVRES  ON  SEA  ANB  IiAIB. 

RUNNING  THE  BLOCKABE. 

THE  GOLB  HUNTERS  IN  EUROPEf  or.  The  Bead  AUte. 

THE  BELLE  OF  AUSTRALIA;  or,  Wlio  Am  II 

Oil  LAND  AND  SEA;  or;  California  in  tlie  Years  1848,  '44  and  '48. 

LEWEY  AND  I;  or,  A  Sailor  Boy's  Wanderings. 

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^ 

S^Ofli^ 

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14    -  rf 

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^^'        '^        

C28(946)MloiiL 

ill 


A  MARKED  INNOVATION 

THg  PASTIMB  SERIES 


1, 


the  most  popular  collection  of  Standard  Novels  now  before 

1ii0  pUic  has  had  recently  added  the  complete  works  of      , 

Wn.  H.  THOMES 

These  thrilling  stories  of  travel  and  adventure  have  never  been 
sold  for  less  than  50  cents  in  paper  covers.    When  first  published 
in  cloth  they  sold  for  $2.00  per  volume.     Now  offered  complete 
unabridged,  unchanged,  at  25  cents. 

READ  THE  TITLES 
A  miM  HUNTER'S  ADYEKTURES  IN  AUSTRA  M 
A  WMAUSVAH'S  ABTEIIT  RES  ON  SEA  AND  LANB. 

HE  BUSHRANGERS;  A  Yankee's  AdTentnres  Boring  a  Seeoni 
Trip  to  Australia. 

A  SIiAYER'S  ABYENTURES  ON  SEA  ANB  LANB. 

lUNIING  THE  BIiOCKABE. 

fHE  OOLB  HUNTERS  IN  EUROPE|  or,  Tlie  Beoil  AUfe> 

THE  BELLE  OF  AUSTRALIA;  or,  Who  Am  17 

ii  LAND  AND  SEA;  or;  California  In  the  Yeait  1843,  '44  and  '4& 

LEWEY  AND  i;  or,  A  MUir  Bo/8  Wanderings. 

LIFE  IN  THE  EAST  INMES.    17  Full-page  lUustraUons. 


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